I'm So Smooth Quotes & Sayings

Beautiful day out there," I said, perching on the stool and crossing my legs. "It's autumn, Sunday, great weather, and crowded everywhere you go. Relaxing indoors like this is the best thing you can do on such a nice day. It's exhausting to get into those crowds. And the air is bad. I mostly do laundry on Sundays - wash the stuff in the morning, hang it out on the roof of my dorm, take it in before the sun goes down, do a good job of ironing it. I don't mind ironing at all. There's a special satisfaction in making wrinkled things smooth. And I'm pretty good at it, too. Of course, I was lousy at it at first. I put creases in everything. After a month of practice, though, I knew what I was doing. So Sunday is my day for laundry and ironing. I couldn't do it today, of course. Too bad: wasted a perfect laundry day. — Haruki Murakami

But I hate to hear you talking so like a fine gentleman, and as if women were all fine ladies, instead of rational creatures. We none of us expect to be in smooth water all our days. — Jane Austen

I was grinding away to the climactic moan backtrack when I caught my reflection in the club's mirror, hips rotating, booty shaking. Years later, Grace described my smooth moves as a sad epileptic white girl's imitation of a twerk. Harsh. Could anyone look sexy dancing to lyrics that include "Sucky, sucky. Me sucky, sucky"? I don't think so. — Leah Marie Brown

With my scrip on my back, and my staff in my hand,I'll march on in haste thro' an enemy's land.Though the way may be rough it cannot be long;So I'll smooth it with hope, and I'll cheer it with song. — Anonymous

I'm so in love with him I can't even ask him out. I want to lie at his feet, want to smooth out all the wrinkles in his life and make everything okay. — Heidi Cullinan

Jack Woltz: Now you listen to me, you smooth-talking son-of-a-bitch, let me lay it on the line for you and your boss, whoever he is! Johnny Fontane will never get that movie! I don't care how many dago guinea wop greaseball goombahs come out of the woodwork!
Tom Hagen: I'm German-Irish.
Jack Woltz: Well, let me tell you something, my kraut-mick friend, I'm gonna make so much trouble for you, you won t know what hit you!
Tom Hagen: Mr. Woltz, I'm a lawyer. I have not threatened you. — Mario Puzo

Now, remembering Daniel's blustering description of Grant's weekend companion, Justin controlled a grin. "Daniel mentioned you were bringing-an artist."
Grant recognized, as few would have, the gleam of humor in Justin's eyes. "I'm sure he did," he returned in the same conversational tone. "I haven't congratulated you yet on ensuring the continuity of the line."
"And saving the rest of us from the pressure to do so immediately," Shelby finished.
"Don't count on it," a smooth voice warned.
Gennie looked up to see a blond woman descending the steps, carrying a bundle in a blue blanket.
"Hello,Grant. It's nice to see you." Serena cradled her son in one arm as she leaned over to kiss Grant's cheek. "It was sweet of you to answer the royal summons. — Nora Roberts

"I'm destined to die a virgin." My own admission shocked me. Had those words left my mouth? I rubbed the smooth material of Noah's jacket. Maybe I should have gone off with him. Not to get high, but to ... well ... not die a virgin.
***
"HOLY CROW, ECHO. You hibernate for a year and a half and wake up with a bang." Lila finished changing out of her church clothes and into a tight pink sweater and blue jeans. "Luke tells you he still loves you - and by the way, told you so. And Noah stinking Hutchins tries to kiss you. And you complained you were going to die a virgin." — Katie McGarry

I turned to him and kissed him, slowly lingeringly, my hands running over the hard, smooth curves and angles of his body. It wasn't that first kiss so many months before. This one was big and complicated and full of colours and textures. It held stories in it, and memories, and that made it even better. — Katherine Applegate

Leveling off at 42,000 feet, I had thirty percent of my fuel, so I turned on rocket chamber three and immediately reached .96 Mach. I noticed that the faster I got, the smoother the ride. Suddenly the Mach needle began to fluctuate. It went up to .965 Mach - then tipped right off the scale ... We were flying supersonic. And it was a smooth as a baby's bottom; Grandma could be sitting up there sipping lemonade. — Chuck Yeager

It began with a perfect plan. Shape-wise we had a circle, a simple uncomplicated curve to guide us comfortably from one thing to another, an easy predictable ride promising a natural progression from A to B, C and D, and so on until we reached our destination. But somewhere down that smooth line, I think around F, it all went pear-shaped. — Ivana Hruba

The class of dishonest bees which I have been describing, may be termed the "Jerry Sneaks" of their profession, and after they have followed it for some time, they lose all disposition for honest pursuits, and assume a hang-dog sort of look, which is very peculiar. Constantly employed in creeping into small holes, and daubing themselves with honey, they often lose all the bright feathers and silky plumes which once so beautifully adorned their bodies, and assume a smooth and almost black appearance; just as the hat of the thievish loafer, acquires a "seedy" aspect, and his garments, a shining and threadbare look. — L.L. Langstroth

She fastens her other hand securely on my wrist, and moves so that she's behind me. Good job, angel. Let him know I'm your man. At least your a fast learner.
I rub my thumb over her smooth skin in approval, then stop. She doesn't need my approval. I'm not her man, but, for now, I am her protector. — Katie McGarry

I wear Spanx to smooth things out. I read that Jessica Alba wears them and if she wears them, then so should I. — Amanda Bynes

over the smooth lip of the china cup, I thought of how someone's loss had become my gain, of how the tide would roll in and out again as if nothing had changed, and how sometimes the separation between endings and beginnings is so — Karen White

Outside the guys' athletic dorms, I attempt to stand in front of Beth as she searches for my brother's room number. Beth wears a cotton T-shirt that hugs her slim form and ends a half inch short of her low-rise jeans. With her smooth skin tempting me in very right, yet wrong, places, I would bet my Jeep that the outfit doesn't have Scott's seal of approval. Don't get me wrong, I love it, and so does every guy walking in and out of the dorms. She's my girl and I prefer to be the only one looking at her. — Katie McGarry

Is it cool if I invite Morris and Daisy to the game tomorrow?" She eases her panties up her smooth, bare legs, and I'm so distracted by the sight that I forget what she asked a nanosecond after she asks it.



My cock hardens beneath the sheets, tenting up as if trying to get Grace's attention. She sighs when she notices the campsite on the bed. — Elle Kennedy

We found a smooth inviting boulder under a vast banyan tree, and sat in companionable silence. There unexpectedly, on that rock, I saw the secret of contentment. True happiness is only ever possible if you have been unhappy. And there, at that moment, I couldn't remember the last time I had felt so peaceful. It wouldn't have been possible for me to take in any more happiness.
Moti turned to me and smiled as if she knew. I realised then that this moment and this wonderful feeling would sustain me for a long, long time. — Jane Wilson-Howarth

Things that're worth it never do. You got a woman where it goes smooth, you get rid of her. There's no passion in smooth. There's no challenge in smooth. You got smooth, that mean's she's bustin' her ass so you can sail along without a hitch in the road, which in turns means she's all about lookin' after you rather than gettin' what she needs out of the deal. Man's no man at all, he doesn't meet his woman's needs. Woman's no woman at all, she doesn't got it in her to look after gettin' what she needs. That might not make sense to you until you live it, so I'll just boil this down, son. Smooth is boring. — Kristen Ashley

Hey," I reached out and tapped the hand that rested next to my left leg. "you are
"
The hand that I tapped reached up and clasped mine. I froze as he threaded his finders through mine. "I'm what?"
Beautiful. Kind. Patient. Perfect. I said none of those things. Instead, I stared at his fingers, wondering if he knew he was holding my hand. "You're always so ... ."
His thumb moved over the top of my hand. The balm made his fingers cool and smooth. "What?"
I looked up, and I was immediately snared. His stare, his soft touch along my hand was doing very strange things. I felt hot and dizzy, like I'd been out in the sun all day. All I could think about was how his hand felt on mine. Then, what his hand would feel like on other parts. I shouldn't be thinking that at all.
Aiden was a pure. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

I was winning awards, getting raises, lecturing college classes, appearing on TV shows, and judging journalism contests. And then I wrote some stories that made me realize how sadly misplaced my bliss had been. The reason I'd enjoyed such smooth sailing for so long hadn't been, as I'd assumed, because I was careful and diligent and good at my job... The truth was that, in all those years, I hadn't written anything important enough to suppress. — Gary Webb

A story is alive, as you and I are. It is rounded by muscle and sinew. Rushed with blood. Layered with skin, both rough and smooth. At its core lies soft marrow of hard, white bone. A story beats with the heart of every person who has ever strained ears to listen. On the breath of the storyteller, it soars. Until its images and deeds become so real you can see them in the air, shimmering like oases on the horizon line. A story can fly like a bee, so straight and swift you catch only the hum of its passing. Or move so slowly it seems motionless, curled in upon itself like a snake in the sun. It can vanish like smoke before the wind. Linger like perfume in the nose. Change with every telling, yet always remain the same. — Cameron Dokey

I have my eye on everything that's of the moment. All the dances, I can do everything that they're currently doing but still keep it smooth. So, I really made it something you can dance to in the summer time but keep it comfortable. You're going to be fly but you don't have to sweat hard and at the same time the song is real sexy. — MC Hammer

I graduated J&W in the top ninety-three percent of my class, and I would have graduated higher, but I flunked gravy. My gravy had lumps in it, and that pretty much sums up my life so far. Not that it's been all bad; more that it hasn't been entirely smooth. — Janet Evanovich

I can't just take it.'
'You can. I'm giving it to you.' She affirms, glimpsing quickly up at me and then down to the floor, moving her foot once and then back again. Still her hand is offered to me, still flinching with the ring in her palm.
'What do you want for it?'
'Nothing.'
'You must want something.'
'I... got what I wanted.' She smiles, such a light, smooth movement of her lips, but it dies out so quickly, like a candle light being blown in the wind.
'What's that?'
'I got to see you again, to give it to you. — Charlotte Munro

His back was to me and he was wearing pajama bottoms and nothing else. His shoulders, the smooth muscles of his back, the wide expanse of smooth, tan skin, was all exposed to the naked eye and I was blinded by the beauty of it. So much, it was a wonder I didn't throw out my hand reeling.
At that thought, he turned and gave me a view of his chest.
At this view, arguably better than his back, I sucked in a breath then whispered to myself, Oh my God. — Kristen Ashley

They made me so smooth like porcelain. Inside I was broken glass. Every fragment was piercing me sharp. At every breath, I felt I was imploding. — Sonia Rao

I examined my palm; the skin was unbroken and smooth, showing no sign of the burn. It glistened with saliva. I really wanted to wipe it clean against my jeans, but that seemed rude. Of course, he'd just licked me, so maybe his idea of rude was different than mine. — Cassandra Page

You've got to get cold to get warm, Phoebe said.
Now that is the truth. That is so true about so many things. You learn it first with sheets and blankets: that the initial touch of the smooth sheets will send you shivering, but their warming works fast, and you must experience the discomfort to find the later contentment. It's true with money and love, too. You've got to save to have something to spend. Think of how hard it is to ask out a person you like. In my case, Claire asked me to go on a date to the cash machine, so I didn't actually have to ask her. Still, her lips were cold, but her tongue was warm. — Nicholson Baker

I know, sweetie. But I've seen you with him. I've seen how he looks at you. Maybe this is the big one. You won't know unless you try." She touched my face. "I'm happy for you, and I think you've got to go with a little leap of faith here. So far Mr. Blackstone is on my good list. If that should change or if he hurts one smooth hair on your innocent head, then his pretty-boy balls are gonna be transformed into a set of Klik-Klaks. And please tell him I said that. — Raine Miller

The first egg is white. I move the eggcup a little, so it's now in the watery sunlight that comes through the window and falls, brightening, waning, brightening again, on the tray. The shell of the egg is smooth but also grained; small pebbles of calcium are defined by the sunlight, like craters on the moon. It's a barren landscape, yet perfect; it's the sort of desert the saints went into, so their minds would not be distracted by profusion. I think that this is what God must look like: an egg. The life of the moon may not be on the surface, but inside. The egg is glowing now, as if it had an energy of its own. To look at the egg gives me intense pleasure. The sun goes and the egg fades. I — Margaret Atwood

I have a dream.
And in this dream I'm under the covers in bed, just a few scant inches away from Carter's body. I stare at his prone form lying next to me, the greenish-blue glow from the alarm clock on the bedside table providing just enough illumination for me to see the shallow rise and fall of his chest. The sheet is draped low over his hips as he sleeps peacefully with one arm flung over his eyes and the other resting on his taut, naked stomach. I slide my body ever so slowly across the bed, careful not to disturb him, until I'm so close I can feel the heat from his skin warming me from head to toe. I pull my arms out from under the sheet and my hands reach out towards him. I connect with his smooth, muscular chest, slide my fingers up his body, and ... choke the ever living shit out of him. — Tara Sivec

In the grand scheme of things, we share a mutual goal, but I'm not a distraction."
He couldn't help laughing, probably loudly enough to scare a school of hammerheads.
"What?"
"Sharona Blaire." He shook his head, keeping his eyes on the smooth ocean surface. "You've been nothing but the sexiest, most desirable distraction of my life." The admission hung in the air, suspended, and for a painful moment, he regretted being so open ... trusting.
"I guess that means we have something else in common, Jeff Cruz. — Ophelia London

He reached out, ran his finger down the fine, ultra-smooth flesh of her cheek and knew he had never touched anything so soft.
I dare you. The memory of her pretty pink lips forming those words had his lips quirking.
He leaned close, feathered her hair from her ear and whispered, "Never dare me."
She jackknifed in the bed. Her eyes flew open, and a scream of pure terror erupted from her lips with such a suddenness that he couldn't counter it.
He cursed, jumped for the window, grabbed the rope he'd secured beside it, and in the time it took for her screams to die he was on the ground and running.
Damn. Guess he shouldn't have warned her, he thought with a smile. But he had. And he hoped, for her sake, she remembered it. — Lora Leigh

So ... " he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back onto his heels. "You come here often?"
Picking up on his mood with the lightning quickness that had won them a space in the finals, Jules flirted right back."Pretty often. But you must be new. I'm sure I'd remember if I'd seen you here before, hot stuff."
That made him grin and saunter closer, close enough to reach out and smooth a lock of dark gold hair behind her ear. "What do you say we low this joint? ... — Louisa Edwards

But Tommy Lee Jones is just smooth. He's just the real deal. I'm captivated by him because there's so little of that in Hollywood, and he just embodies it. — Lara Flynn Boyle

I put my fingers under Emily's chin, tilting her head up. "I love you."
Emily's dark eyes widen and if this moment wasn't so dire, I'd laugh at her expression. swipe a finger across her smooth cheek. "I've never said that to anyone and I don't plan on it being the last time, either. I love you, Emily, and I'm telling you we'll work ths out. — Katie McGarry

Then I'm afraid we'll have to lose our common ground." Flashing his fangs,he lunged forward.I drew my arm back and punched him full in the face.
"Ow!" we screamed in unison as he clutched his nose and I shook my poor, poor hand.Why didn't anyone ever tell me punching faces hurts?
"You hit me!"
"You were trying to bite me!"
We glared at each other,intensity somewhat diminished by the hand he still held to his nose. "So what now?" he asked,smooth voice muffled.
"I haven't thought that far ahead yet. — Kiersten White

I use something that is a real staple in the directing world. It's called a dance floor. You lay it down so that it's so smooth you can roll around, and you can put furniture on top of it. It's seamless and you don't see it. — Debbie Allen

I neither oblige the belief of other person, nor overhastily subscribe mine own. Nor have I stood with others computing or collating years and chronologies, lest I should be vainly curious about the time and circumstance of things, whereof the substance is so much in doubt. By this time, like one who had set out on his way by night, and travelled through a region of smooth or idle dreams, our history now arrives on the confines, where daylight and truth meet us with a clear dawn, representing to our view, though at a far distance, true colours and shapes. — John Milton

I'm a librarian in town,' she began.
'You sure about that?'
The words popped out before he could stop them.
Annabelle raised her eyebrows. 'Fairly. It's my job and so far no one has told me to go away when I show up for work.'
smooth, Stryker, he thought, very smooth.
'I was expecting someone wearing glasses. You know. Because librarians read a lot.'
The raised eyebrows turned into a frown. 'You need to get out of the barn more. — Susan Mallery

I think part of why schizophrenia got linked to civil rights protest in the '60s was because mainstream society was coding threats against the smooth running of the state as insanity and treating it as such, and so as that happens you see the evolution of a process in which people with schizophrenia are increasingly feared and our hospitals, particularly the kind of hospital that I look at in the book become to look more and more like prisons, to the point where many of them including the one I talk about actually become prisons. — Jonathan Michel Metzl

Gerard Manley Hopkins somewhere describes how he mesmerized a duck by drawing a line of chalk out in front of it. Think of me as the duck; the chalk, softly wearing itself away against the tiny pebbles embedded in the corporate concrete, is Joyce's forward-luring rough-smooth voice on the cassettes she gives me. Or, to substitute another image, since one is hardly sufficient in Joyce's case, when I let myself really enter her tape, when I let it surround me, it is as if I'm sunk into the pond of what she is saying, as if I'm some kind of patient, cruising amphibian, drifting in black water, entirely submerged except for my eyes, which blink every so often. Each word comes floating up to me like a thick, healthy lily pad and brushes past my head. — Nicholson Baker

We didn't speak anymore, then, as the melting boundaries of our bodies disappeared. It was slow, dreamy and peaceful, his body and mine as much as mine was his, so that I curled my foot round his leg and felt both smooth sole and hairy shin, felt callused palm and tender flesh, was knife and sheath together, the rhythm of our movement that of one heart beating. The — Diana Gabaldon

Miss Taylor says kids that are colored can't go to my school cause they're not smart enough." I come round the counter then. Lift her chin up and smooth back her funny-looking hair. "You think I'm dumb?" "No," she whispers hard, like she means it so much. She look sorry she said it. "What that tell you about Miss Taylor, then?" She blink, like she listening good. "Means Miss Taylor ain't right all the time," I say. She hug me around my neck, say, "You're righter than Miss Taylor." I tear up then. My cup is spilling over. Those is new words to me. — Kathyrn Stockett

His drawl was so smooth, so velvet soft, as it wrapped around me. I just wanted him to whisper things to me in the dark forever. — Jay Crownover

As we go through this transition where a lot more people will be reading on devices, nobody is paying enough attention to make sure it's a smooth transition. I believe we still need places where people can go to handle, hold and talk about books, get information about what books are out there, and so on. — James Patterson

In time, in time they tell me, I'll not feel so bad. I don't want time to heal me. There's a reason I'm like this.
I want time to set me ugly and knotted with loss of you, marking me. I won't smooth you away.
I can't say goodbye. — China Mieville

We get to the front door and I lean back against it. "Thank you," I repeat.
"You'd have done the same for me." Jase puts his thumb under my chin and tips it up. "It's nothing."
"Well, except that I can't drive, and you never would have gotten yourself into that situation and
"
"Shhh." He pulls on my lower lip gently with his teeth, then fits his mouth to mine. First so careful, and then so deep and deliberate, that I can't think of anything at all but his smooth back under my hands. My fingers travel to the springy-soft texture of his hair, and I lose myself in the movement of his lips and his tongue. I'm so glad I'm still alive to feel all those things. — Huntley Fitzpatrick

You're here," he says, and his voice is like sunshine, like honey, it's warm and rich and moreish. "I'm so very glad." Where Silas's voice is spikes and edges, every word a warning, this man's voice is smooth, velvety and beckoning. — Melinda Salisbury

So, even in the midst of craziness and exhaustion and life-changing chaos, I was filled with peace and the sweet knowledge that I was walking the path my Goddess wanted me on. Not that that path was smooth and pothole free. But still, it was my path, and like me, it was bound to be unique. — P.C. Cast

The literary gift is a very dangerous gift to possess if you are not telling the truth, and I would a great deal rather, for my part, have a man stumble in his speech than to feel he was so exceedingly smooth that he had better be watched both day and night. — Woodrow Wilson

Myles kisses me back, almost hesitating before he does.
But I don't give him the chance to stop me. It's like it's not me doing these things, but some piece of myself that's been hidden away until now and has taken advantage of my current mental state to emerge. A part of my brain, or heart, or soul that needs to keep my lips moving against his, that's running my hands through his smooth, soft hair, that's pressing my body against his.
And it wants more.
For a second, I'm sure Myles is going to pull away, but I push my body harder into him, circling my arms around his waist as his hands stroke my hair gently, like he's not sure what else he's supposed to do with them. He's close. So close I can feel every muscle in his chest, every whisper of a breath he lets in or out.
I don't know how we end up on the bed ... — Nikki Rae

Anyways, the epiphany I just had was this. Maybe guys like me who write with bad grammar and all and sound like what you might think a dipshit should sound like, actually aren't dipshits. We're just regular Joes, makin' the world go 'round. It's those fucks who talk and write so smooth and perfect that they make you feel like a dumbass because you don't. Maybe they're the dipshits. — Bobby Adair

I can still smell you on my pillow. I can still see you standing in my room, the light caressing your smooth legs, your dark hair cascading over your shoulders, and your gorgeous mouth smiling so effortlessly. I miss you. I ache for you, and I'm bordering on crazy without you. Come back to me. — Renee Carlino

I'd watch his smooth chest rise and fall with each steady breath, I'd watch the pulsating of his stomach when he laughed, and I'd never forget to make a comment or two about the wispy trail of grey fuzz that lined up perfectly centre with his body - and I thought that straight lines didn't exist in nature.
"Look at that old man hair," I'd say, purposely trying to get a reaction from him. Sometimes I'd even run my hand over his stomach so that he'd feel it.
He'd grab my hand to make me stop, or pretend that he was going to hit me as he laughed with me. "At least I don't have a grizzly bear ass like somebody I know. — Ashley Newell

What went on in that head of his? I would soon come to understand that he gave voice to only a fraction of the thoughts that swam behind his eyes. It was not nearly so clean and smooth in there as it seemed. Other lives were houses in that mind, parallel worlds. Maybe we're all built a little that way. But most of us drop hints. Most of us leave clues. My father was more careful. — Karen Thompson Walker

Regardless of the age of the people in the audience, they are clapping, screaming with joy and enjoying each and every note. I used to think classical music was boring. But that was because I never really gave it a chance. When I first saw 2CELLOS' cover of Smooth Criminal, I was mesmerized by their talent and instantly intrigued. With just two instruments, they created a sound so powerful and incredible, a sound I had never known could come from a cello. — Valentina Gomaz

I truly meant to only find you and bring you back to the landing, sweet, but when I saw you here alone, I could not help myself. It has been so many years I have longed for the forbidden fruit, Mary, and I am not really a very patient man. You were angered with me today for kissing Maud, but years of smiling and laughing with you and breathing in your sweet scent and seeing that luscious face and body near me and then bidding you a curt goodnight as you go to Will's or Henry's bed is pure hell." He reached over to smooth her hair. "I tell you, Mary, whomever I have slept with these past five years, I have dreamed it was you or, if not, your face came back to tease me-to haunt me-soon after. Do you understand? — Karen Harper

So long as I confine my activities to social service and the blind, they compliment me extravagantly, calling me 'arch priestess of the sightless,' 'wonder woman,' and a 'modern miracle.' But when it comes to a discussion of poverty, and I maintain that it is the result of wrong economics - that the industrial system under which we live is at the root of much of the physical deafness and blindness in the world - that is a different matter! It is laudable to give aid to the handicapped. Superficial charities make smooth the way of the prosperous; but to advocate that all human beings should have leisure and comfort, the decencies and refinements of life, is a Utopian dream, and one who seriously contemplates its realization indeed must be deaf, dumb, and blind. — Helen Keller

I am carved like David,
every line of my body perfectly chiseled.
Hunger is the blade that has made me smooth.
I am a statue, yet I am only air at my center.
I go to hug myself and
-poof!-
my arms go right through me
finding nothing to hold on to.
My hands meet behind my own back
in a stone handshake.
This is not what you were expecting.
I'm so cold.
I'm so sharp.
I've been cut, now I'll cut you.
Come closer.
Yes, come closer to me.
I am going to make you see what I see. — Madeleine George

I get my heroes so that they're lean and hard muscled and mocking and sardonic and tough and tigerish and single, of course. Oh and they've got to be rich and then I make it that they're only cynical and smooth on the surface. But underneath they're well, you know, sort of lost and lonely. In need of love but, when roused, capable of breathtaking passion and potency. Most of my heroes, well all of them really, are like that. They frighten but fascinate. They must be the sort of men who are capable of rape: men it's dangerous to be alone in the room with. — Violet Winspear

I settled on the floor and whispered to Sam, "I want you to listen to me, if you can." I leaned the side of my face against his ruff and remembered the golden wood he had shown me so long ago. I remembered the way the yellow leaves, the color of Sam's eyes, fluttered and twisted, crashing butterflies, on their way to the ground. The slender white trunks of the birches, creamy and smooth as human skin. I remembered Sam standing in the middle of the wood, his arms stretched out, a dark, solid form in the dream of the trees. His coming to me, me punching his chest, the soft kiss. I remembered every kiss we'd ever had, and I remembered every time I'd curled in his human arms. I remembered the soft warmth of his breath on the back of my neck while we slept.
I remembered Sam. — Maggie Stiefvater

I took a voyage once
it is many years ago, now
to Amsterdam, and the owner, not my good cousin here, but another, took a fancy to go with me; and his wife must needs accompany him, and verily, before that voyage was over, I wished I was dead. I was no longer captain of the ship. My owner was my captain, and his wife was his. We were forever putting into port for fresh bread and meat, milk and eggs, for she could eat none other. If the wind got up but ever so little, we had to run into shelter and anchor until the sea was smooth. The manners of the sailors shocked her. She would scream at night when a rat ran across her, and would lose her appetite if a living creature, of which, as usual, the ship was full, fell from a beam onto her platter. I was tempted, more than once, to run the ship on to a rock and make an end of us all. — G.A. Henty

So the days pass and I ask myself sometimes whether one is not hypnotised, as a child by a silver globe, by life; and whether this is living. It's very quick, bright, exciting. But superficial perhaps. I should like to take the globe in my hands and feel it quietly, round, smooth, heavy, and so hold it, day after day. I will read Proust I think. I will go backwards and forwards. — Virginia Woolf

I don't like records that are the same from beginning to end, that are too styled and slick. Everything is so designed and airbrushed and Botoxed, it makes us think, 'Oh, everybody's perfect except me. Everything's smooth except me.' But nothing is smooth. — Bjork

What about you? What do you do?" I needed to ask questions, draw him out. I needed to find out all the information I could. My voice sounded strong and smooth, but my hands were shaking. I put them in my lap so he couldn't see.
"I prey on innocent villagers and terrify their children," he said with a nasty smile. "And sometimes when I'm feeling really evil, I read books or paint. — Kate Avery Ellison

I love a good goatee. I'm actually obsessed with goatees. I do like my men smooth, though. I like him to smell really good, so a great cologne is always hot. — Tia Mowry

So you can't marry Harry, Mom! Not if you still love Daddy!" I sound like a ten-year-old, but I can't help it. Buttercup comes over to me and puts her head on my lap.
"Love gets used up, Chastity," Mom says gently, reaching up to smooth my hair. "If it's not returned, it gets used up. — Kristan Higgins

I couldn't breathe. She was so beautiful that it was unreal. All I could do was stare at her like an idiot. Oh crap, I'm staring! OK come on, Liam, say something.
Say anything.
Liam, freaking say SOMETHING.
"Um ... Hi, Angel," I mumbled, my voice sounding tight. Wow, that was real smooth, Liam! God, I'm such a dick! — Kirsty Moseley

And suddenly there came a breeze from the east, tossing the top of the wave into foamy shapes and ruffling the smooth water all round them. It lasted only a second or so but what it brought them in that second none of those three children will ever forget. It brought both a smell and a sound, a musical sound. Edmund and Eustace would never talk about it afterwareds. Lucy could only say, "It would break your heart." "Why," said I, "was it so sad?" "Sad!! No," said Lucy. — C.S. Lewis

I could see the outline of the cage coming into sight.

"It's so beautiful out today," she commented.

"It is." I started to sweat.

"Do you need a hand?" She could see the trap breaking the water.

"No, I'm good," I said, clearing my throat.

"Oh, that stinks. It's empty."

"Oh well. No loss." Maybe I didn't have to do this now. Maybe she wouldn't see the box, and I could just pull up the traps I had set earlier today. She didn't have to know.

"Wait. What's that?"

Okay, never mind. Back to plan A.

"What's what?" That was smooth. — Kiera Cass

Sonnet: To the River Otter

Dear native brook! wild streamlet of the West!
How many various-fated years have passed,
What happy and what mournful hours, since last
I skimmed the smooth thin stone along thy breast,
Numbering its light leaps! Yet so deep impressed
Sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that mine eyes
I never shut amid the sunny ray,
But straight with all their tints thy waters rise,
Thy crossing plank, thy marge with willows grey,
And bedded sand that, veined with various dyes,
Gleamed through thy bright transparence! On my way,
Visions of childhood! oft have ye beguiled
Lone manhood's cares, yet waking fondest sighs:
Ah! that once more I were a careless child! — Samuel Taylor Coleridge

A tailwind, on the other hand, is one of the most beautiful experiences you can have on a bike. There's no wind in my ears, so I hear everything around me. The chain purrs sweetly as it pulls the gears under the coaxing of my legs. The soft hiss of my tires on the smooth hard pavement, the sound of little critters scurrying in the desert around me as I pass. Smells aren't as big a deal out here in the dry desert, but even the smells are more accessible in a tailwind, since I'm moving through air at a slower relative speed, and the smells linger around my face long enough to register and enjoy them.
Relative progress, speed, sights, smells, sounds. It all goes together to create a gestalt for the ride that's pure sweetness, and I never want it to end.
Hozho. — Neil M. Hanson

But you're supposed to play music, obviously," said Victoria.
Lawrence looked at her in surprise.
"You mean it? I thought you hated it."
"I do mean it," said Victoria. She felt pretty shocked herself. "It's annoying sometimes - well, a lot of the time, really - but it's obviously the thing you're best at, so why shouldn't you do it?" Embarrassed at how happy Lawrence looked, she tried to smooth the wrinkles out of her dirty pajamas. "I mean, it's only logical, isn't it?"
"If you weren't, well, you - I'd want to kiss you right now."
It was fortunate that the room was so dark. Victoria's cheeks turned bright red.
"Well," she said. "Well. — Claire Legrand

Goldilocks in the flesh. He zoned out for a second, lost in the smooth texture of her skin, so he had zero time to react when the bikini top flying through the air hit him in the chest ...
She contemplated the ground for a second. "I'd like my top back, please."
"I don't know," he teased. "It could be construed as a deadly weapon. — Robin Bielman

I had grown up in a house with a fence around it, and in this fence was a white smooth wooden gate, two holes bored round and low together so the dog could see through. One night, the moon high, late for me home from the school dance, I remember that I stopped, hand on the gate, and spoke so quietly to myself and to the woman that I would love that not even the dog could have heard.
I don't know where you are, but you're living right now, somewhere on this earth. And one day you and I are going to touch this gate where I'm touching it now. Your hand will touch this very wood, here! Then we'll walk through and we'll be full of a future and of a past and we'll be to each other like no one else has ever been. We can't meet now, I don't know why. But some day our questions will be answers and we'll be caught in something so bright ... and every step I take is one step closer on a bridge we must cross to meet. — Richard Bach

If you're going to have guests," the ghost said with a sigh, "would it be so hard to give me a little advance warning?" Her eyes were dark with heavy lids. She had soft cheekbones and gentle features, framed neatly by twin locks of hair, which swept her cheeks on either side. The rest was tucked behind her ears and spilled down her back and shoulders in silvery waves, like a mercurial waterfall. She had a slim, spritely figure, and her movements were as smooth as smoke in a soft breeze. She placed the cup on the tray with a gentle clink, and drifted to a seat on the windowsill. Through her opaque figure, I could see the swaying branches of a weeping willow in the yard. "How — William Ritter

Astra is a beauty. ( ... ) Astra is so beautiful that I have no wish to describe her beauty. I will say only that her beauty is the expression of her soul. Her beauty lives in her quiet walk, in her shy movements, in her always-lowered eyelids, in her barely perceptible smile, in the soft outline of her girlish shoulders, in the chastity of her poor, almost beggarly clothing, in her thoughtful grey eyes. She is a white water lily in a pond shadowed by the branches of trees, born amid still, contemplative water. ( ... ) The world of modest female beauty finds its expression in Astra. As for what may lie hidden in the depths of these waters, no-one can say unless he breaks the water's smooth surface, walks barefoot through the cutting sedge and treads the silty, sucking mud - now cold, now strangely warm. But I only stand on the shore, admiring the lily from a distance — Vasily Grossman

I traced my finger along her smooth jaw line and then reached for the back of her head, pulling her into my space as I blew a kiss across her lips. "And now? Now are you excited?" "You're getting warmer," she whispered. I sucked on her bottom lip then let my mouth hover over hers as I answered, "I want you to be on fire. Not just warm, but blazing. Not intrigued, but impressed. Not just excited. I want you enthralled. And at the end of the night, what I really want ... " I closed my eyes so I wouldn't kiss her again. " ... is for those tears to be washed away from your memory for good. — Rachel Van Dyken

I imagined your stick, washing in the waves for hundreds of years, turning to driftwood, smooth and hard like stone. I imagined a little girl finding it on a beach so many years later. Saving it on her shelf, where she put the things that made her feel like the world was magical. — Ava Dellaira

We ran well there in the November 2012, my first race with (Tony) Gibson (as crew chief). Unfortunately, we haven't left there without a torn up race car. We got caught up in accidents in November of 2012 and then again in November 2013. We cut a tire and crashed last spring, so it'd be nice to have a good clean run with the GoDaddy car. I like Phoenix and Gibson has won there a few times. Hopefully our luck will turn around and we can have a good smooth run and get back on track. — Danica Patrick

"We're both ... I mean, you're more so, but we're both really fucked up emotionally. I mean, how do I know you're not still loopy from being shot full of ... of ... "
"Benzodiazepine," he said.
"Yes, that." Victoria's eyes met with his a moment and then looked away. "It's been awhile for me," she said at last. "I mean, I've slept with people ... "
"So have I," he said. — Benjamin R. Smith

God, I love your skin."
"My skin?" She glanced uncomprehendingly at her own arm when he rose from nibbling at her. "It's brown."
"It's melted chocolate and coffee with cream, exotic as the fucking desert, and so damn erotic. I have wet dreams about you naked on my sheets, your skin smooth and hot from the sun's rays."
She swallowed, chest heaving. "You make me sound edible."
He purred. "You are. — Nalini Singh

I've always loved books. I'm passionate about them. I think books are sexy. They are smooth and solid and contain delightful surprises. They smell good. They fit into a handbag and can be carried around and opened at will. They don't change. They are what they are and nothing else. One day I want to own a lot of books and have them nbear to me in my house, so that I can stroll to my bookshelves and choose what I fancy. I want a harem. I shall keep my favourites by my bed. — Sue Townsend

Picture to yourself the most beautiful girl imaginable! She was so beautiful that there would be no point, in view of my meagre talent for storytelling, in even trying to put her beauty into words. That would far exceed my capabilities, so I'll refrain from mentioning whether she was a blonde or a brunette or a redhead, or whether her hair was long or short or curly or smooth as silk. I shall also refrain from the usual comparisons where her complexion was concerned, for instance milk, velvet, satin, peaches and cream, honey or ivory, Instead, I shall leave it entirely up to your imagination to fill in this blank with your own ideal of feminine beauty. — Walter Moers

So I went instead and tasted Taki's new white wine. Spiridion! what a wine ... like the blood of a dragon and smooth as a fish ... — Gerald Durrell

Jeb smiles - a genuine Jebediah Holt grin, complete with dimples. Such a beautiful distraction. "I love you, skater girl."
The nickname winds through me, comforting and sweet. I smooth my palm across his shoulder. "Say it again."
"I love you."
"No ... the other part," I plead.
He pulls my body to his, so our mouths come together in a warm, soft kiss. "Skater girl," he whispers against me, brushing hair from my face. — A.G. Howard

If I did I didn't know it. What's it like, velvet?'

'Well, Lu, velvet is like the world was just born. Clean and new and so smooth. — Toni Morrison

When were you in Christian's bed," Ryodan says softly.
I gape. "Dude, you got a serious case of selective hearing, the kind that bleeps out all the important stuff! Who cares when I was in his stupid bed? How the feck did you kill Velvet? You been holding out on me! You need to learn to share your weapons!"
"When."
There's something in the way he utters that single word that makes me shiver, and I'm hard to rattle. "So, I didn't change in a convenience store! So, shoot me. I need my sword. What're are you going to do to get it back?"
I've never seen Ryodan's face go so smooth. It's like it got iced blank of all expression. I've never heard him talk so soft and silky either. "Take her back to Chester's and lock her down. I'll get the sword. — Karen Marie Moning

The problem with being an alpha is that you can never make the first move.
Makes you feel like you're taking advantage of your position. You have to wait until
the other person decides they want in."
Jim set the basket on the coffee table and crouched by me.
"And sometimes it seems like that person likes you, and you try to test the waters,
so you try to tell her how you feel, that she matters and that you want to be with her
and you're concerned about her safety. And every time you do that, she waves her
arms around and accuses you of being a controlling alpha asshole. So you back off
and hope you didn't completely fuck it up."
He was close, too close. I just stared at him. What was happening ... "Why are
you telling me this?"
His voice was low and smooth. "That time when I told you it didn't matter what
your mother thought about your looks ... "
"Aha ... "
"I meant it," he said. "Because I think you're beautiful. — Ilona Andrews

The superstitious belief, common to miners, that gnomes or fiends dwell within the bowels of the earth, began to seize me. I shuddered at the thought of descending further and braving the inhabitants of this nether valley. Nor indeed could I have done so without ropes, as from the spot I had reached to the bottom of the chasm the sides of the rock sank down abrupt, smooth, and sheer. I retraced my steps with some difficulty. Now I have told you all. — Edward Bulwer-Lytton

It quickly became a tracking operation, though. My chariot could not keep up with his truck. By the time I caught up with him, his truck was parked in one of those asphalt wastelands. What are they called again"?
The Tuatha De Danann have no problem asking Druids for information. That's what we're for, after all. The secret to becoming an Old Druid instead of a dead Druid is to betray nary a hint of condescension when answering even the simplest questions.
"They are called parking lots," I replied.
"Ah, yes, thank you. He came out of a building called 'Crussh', holding one of these potions. Are you familar with the building, Druid?"
"I belive that is a smoothie bar in England."
"Quite right. So after I killed him and stowed his body next to the doe, I sampled his smooth concoction in the parking lot and found it to be quite delicious".
See, sentences like that are why I nurture a healthy fear of the Tuatha De Danann. — Kevin Hearne

Form must never trump function. Some objects are made to look so smooth, you don't know where to pick them up or how to turn them on. If I'm designing a garlic press or cheese grater, I need my hand to fit comfortably on it. I like to know, instinctively, how to use it. — Michael Graves

If I so do my best, may this story be recorded and printed and zipped and zapped into hands and eyes and ears and minds and hearts everywhere, and may it no longer be my story but belong to each reader who drinks it in, to make them bigger or smaller as needed; to fill in those tiny holes and smooth over the rough places; to make them sigh and laugh and dream and wonder; to pass a lonely afternoon or enliven a dull evening; to in every regard do just what a story is supposed to do, which is become whatever each reader needs most at that moment. — Shannon Hale

Focus.
Such a little word for such a hard thing and yet it can make things so simple, unless you break it. Like glass.
Fragile on certain points with enough pressure ore carelessness, but if handled correctly, it's useful, clear, sharp, and perfect.
That's what I will try to think about, whenever the Beast in me is not in agreement with what I am doing, or how I am behaving, when it threatens to break free, through that very same glass that separates us.
I need to be exactly like this window: smooth, cool, strong, and impenetrable.
Focus. — D.S. Wrights

No. There were men there from all over the Highlands - from every clan, almost. Only a few men from each clan - remnants and ragtag. But the more in need of a chief, for all that." "And that's what you were to them?" I spoke gently, restraining the urge to smooth the line away with my fingers. "For lack of any better," he said, with the flicker of a smile. He had come from the bosom of family and tenants, from a strength that had sustained him for seven years, to find a lack of hope and a loneliness that would kill a man faster than the damp and the filth and the quaking ague of the prison. And so, quite simply, he had taken the ragtag and remnants, the castoff survivors of the field of Culloden, and made them his own, that they and he might — Diana Gabaldon

I can't swallow another drop of soda by this point because the carbonation is burning my throat.
"Oh really? Well ... " I trail off as I feel bubbling at the base of my throat. This is not good.
Before I can stop myself, I let out the biggest burp I've ever, ever, ever had. I slap a hand over my mouth and stare at Logan whose eyebrows have reached astronomical heights.
"Dude! So not smooth, man! Girls cannot stand rudeness," Dan yells from the back room. — Leah Rae Miller

She snorted. "I doubt it. Waxing hurts."

"I'd kiss it better afterward, babe. I promise. I'll rake my teeth over the smooth skin and lick every inch of your sweet pussy all night long until you're dizzy from coming and beg me to stop. Your folds will be so sensitive the smallest friction will set you off. — Elle Aycart

I believe there's plenty of market for each; we're talking about an ecosystem that is going to support billions of devices, so a competitive landscape is good for consumers, developers, and the platforms alike. Apple brings a smooth elegance to its devices and platform, with the best marketplace experience to boot. Google brings a higher volume of devices as well as a more diverse ecosystem to interact with. The real story here is that Microsoft is nowhere to be seen, ending a two-decade monopoly and creating biggest opportunity for software startups probably ever. — Aaron Levie