Jet D'eau Quotes & Sayings

I didn't need a man, but if I wanted one I'd take him and use him and then pass him along without a second thought, because I'd become a sophisticated, modern woman if it killed me. Sure. And I would lose ten pounds and age backward, too. Right after I learned to fly my invisible jet. — Joanna Wylde

I had been thinking a lot about how the media has created this complex, fictionalized cartoon version of me, you know, this man-eating, jet-setting serial dater who reels them in, but scares them off because she's clingy and needy; then she's all dejected, so she goes into her lair and writes a song as a weapon. I mean, man, that's pretty intense. And I started thinking about what an interesting character that person is. And, if I was that person, what would my life motto be, my mantra? What would I say? I think I'd own it. — Taylor Swift

I want to fly a jet. I'd love to just be in the air and go mach 3 or mach 4. Or, I'd be an underwater salvager. I've always been fascinated with the Bermuda Triangle and Atlantis. I love chemistry, also. That's why acting is so random for me! — Kellan Lutz

Buddy of mine once told me that he'd rather fly a jet than kiss his girl. Said it gave him more of a kick. — Jerry O'Connell

Then she looked away, dismissing him as if she'd found him to be substandard.
All right, then. She didn't find him attractive. Good.
In fact, he kept his head shaved to a glossy shine for just that reason. He was a man willing to do anything to discourage feminine attention.
Because yeah, females could be vanity hounds and most preferred their dates to have hair. Black, blond, red, it didn't matter, as long as the locks were thick and lustrous.
And here was a news flash for little
Miss Giggles: when he allowed his to grow, it was dark brown, nearly jet, with hints of gold and worthy of a fucking lion. — Gena Showalter

I mean, I'd love to have a private jet - I know people who fly by private jet all the time ... I've hitched a ride a few times and it is not overrated at all; it's a great way to travel! — Marc Jacobs

Laney felt the pills he'd taken, the ones that were supposed to cushion the jet lag, drop out from under him like some kind of rotten pharmacological scaffolding. — William Gibson

Now my dad is with me, traveling with me and a big part of this whole thing is I like to mix it up a little bit, you know. Who gets to take their father on a private jet across the country and stay in first class hotels? So we're enjoying it, but I'd stop if it's not possible. — Shia Labeouf

Honestly, I'd love to think I was in a position where I had that decision. But last year I worked on a movie in Bulgaria, now I'm in New York or LA. It really sounds jet-setting when you say it, but there's lots of down-time where you wonder what you're doing or you wonder about life. — Sean Mahon

He could tell at once that they carried different sorts of bubble bath mixed with the water though it wasn't bubble bath as Harry had ever experienced. One tap gushed pink and blue bubbles the size of footballs; another poured ice-white foam so thick that Harry thought it would have supported his weight if he'd cared to test it; a third sent heavily perfumed purple clouds hovering over the surface of the water. Harry amused himself for a while turning the taps on and off, particularly enjoying the effect of one whose jet bounced off the surface of the water in large arcs. — J.K. Rowling

The hassle over the word 'proof' boils down to one question: What constitutes proof? Does a UFO have to land at the River Entrance to the Pentagon, near the Joint Chiefs of Staff offices? Or is it proof when a ground radar station detects a UFO, sends a jet to intercept it, the jet pilot sees it, and locks on with his radar, only to have the UFO streak away at a phenomenal speed? Is it proof when a jet pilot fires at a UFO and sticks to his story even under the threat of court-martial? Does this constitute proof? — J.D. Gray

I received a call from Jets general manager Mike Tannenbaum and head coach Eric Mangini. They asked me if I was ready to become a New York Jet. I quickly answered 'yes' and began to hug everyone at the table. — D'Brickashaw Ferguson

Big Jason walked into the club, stared at the band beginning their sound check and quickly walked over to the bar. Lily looked up from her rinsing and smiled.
"Big Jason Gulliver, back in town. Raquel said Godzilla returned to Tokyo, I wondered how soon you'd drop by here".

"Front me a soda, Lily. How's the night club racket?" Jason barked over the noisy band.
"Guys still hitting on me, including your stupid friend King Steve", Lily shot a jet of soda pop from her beverage gun into a water glass.
Jason chortled. "He's slow on the draw. You're a fuckin' dyke but a cool fuckin' dyke. I don't even care if you sleep with my girl".
"Why thank you, Caveman", Lily smiled, handing him the soda with a cherry on top. — Andy Seven

Hours later Kaderin paced in the main cabin of the jet, furious over more things than she could process.
The first: because of the Lykae's stunt, she was being forced into this situation with Sebastian. And she'd left the diamonds. Silly Valkyrie.
The second: two of her half-sisters, her coven mates, had been wed, and she'd heard of it after the fact. They are so not getting gifts from me. Were her sisters that averse to her presence at weddings? Am I that dismal? — Kresley Cole

Blue is the insides of something mysterious and lonely. I'd look at fish and birds, thinking the sky and water colored them. The first abyss is blue. An artist must go beyond the mercy of satin or water-from a gutty hue to that which is close to royal purple. All seasons and blossoms inbetween. Lavender. Theatrical and outrageous electric. Almost gray. True and false blue. Water and oil. The gas jet breathing in oblivion. The unstruck match. The blue of absence. The blue of deep presence. The insides of something perfect. — Yusef Komunyakaa

I even reached a point of detachment where I was able to see clearly that he was a top operator of a complex vehicle who had some great skills and some fundamental problems. The trick to working well with him was to understand that the problems were his, not mine, and they all seemed to stem from his insecurity. He was unable to view his colleagues as anything other than competitors out to destroy him, who therefore needed to be squashed like bugs. Once, flying up to Washington in a NASA jet, I stopped to refuel and a military guy I'd never met before noticed the plane and said, Hey, do you know ? What an asshole! — Chris Hadfield

I'm also very fond of a light business jet, so I'd like to get it before it's too late. — Morgan Freeman

Jet slammed her back against the wall of the ruined warehouse, panting. Crouching down by the moldy cement bricks, she fought to make her breathing silent. Her sword dug into her spine in the middle of her back, but she barely felt it. Panic filled her, making her sweat even in the early morning air. She was too late. Surely, they'd seen her. They always said it happened this way. The older adults had been warning her for years about this kind of thing, warning all of them. — J.C. Andrijeski

But if Crake wanted her to stay longer on any given night, do it again maybe, she'd make some excuse - jet lag, a headache, something plausible. Her inventions were seamless, she was the best poker-faced liar in the world, so there would be a kiss goodbye for stupid Crake, a smile, a wave, a closed door, and the next minute there she would be, with Jimmy. — Margaret Atwood

What happens is that, you know, on Mondays, at least in the Senate, you know, Monday night we'd have what you'd call a bed-check vote. Just to get, you know, the machinery of the Senate up and running so they can start the committee process; on Tuesday morning, things go. By Thursday, you know, jet fumes, the smell of jet fumes. — Olympia Snowe

Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe, and pale gessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose, and the well attir'd woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears: Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffadillies fill their cups with tears, To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies. — John Milton

When I turned to leave the groom to his work, I saw that D's ranch manager had been watching us. His name was Boy Long, and he was exotic-looking for these parts, with jet-black hair and a single gold hoop in one ear. His particular flair made me think of a pirate. "What's in the tincture?" he wanted to know. "Nothing unusual." He looked me up and down. "I don't believe you, but you can keep your secret." A — Paula McLain

If this place were closer to Terra there'd be empty beer cans and plastic plates strewn around. The trees would be gone. There'd be old jet motors in the water. The beaches would stink to high heaven. Terran Development would have a couple of million little plastic houses set up everywhere. — Philip K. Dick

I met him last night, and as if hypnotized, I'd followed him into his private jet. Now I stood inside a European-inspired estate in Madison, Wisconsin. I had gone home with a stranger, and I didn't even know his name. He had refused to tell me, saying it wasn't important. Not yet. "You'll be safe here." He picked up what looked like a remote control from an antique wood mantelpiece and pressed a button. More bright light flooded the room. Beyond the glass wall, I caught a furious sparkle. A lake. — Dori Lavelle

There was a zombie at my back door. Its eyes swung up, and they were blue, the whites already clouding with the egg rot of death. Its jaw a mess of meat and frozen blood; something had eaten half its face. Its fingertips already worn down to bony nubs, scraped against the window. Flesh hung in strips from it's hand, and my stomach turned over hard. Black mist rose at the corners of my vision, and the funny rushing sound in my head sounded like a jet plane taking off. I'd know that zombie anywhere. Even if he was dead and mangled, his eyes were the same. Blue as winter ice, fringed with pale lashes. — Lilith Saintcrow

Then she would be that hostess in Houston and I would be that tanned one from Florida, a small memory of chlorinated pool water, fruit juice and gin, steak raw in the middle, and hearty rhythms in the draperied twilight of the tomb-cool motel cubicle, riding the grounded flesh of the jet-stream Valkyrie. A harmless pleasure. For harmless plastic people, scruff-proof, who can create the delusion of romance. — John D. MacDonald

I've been here for eight years and I'm going into my 13th season. There's nothing I'd have liked better than to retire as a Jet. But the reality is, they released me. My goal now is not to break the bank. I did that twice already with my original contract and a restructuring. It's about winning a championship, and from this point forward, I'm going to go to the team that gives me the best chance to win a Super Bowl. — Kevin Mawae

Have you ever watched the jet cars race on the boulevard? ... I sometimes think drivers don't know what grass is, or flowers, because they never see them slowly ... If you showed a driver a green blur, Oh yes! He'd say, that's grass! A pink blur! That's a rose garden! White blurs are houses. Brown blurs are cows. — Ray Bradbury

A part of me is missing when I can't ski, but I've learned there's more to define me and make me happy, like stand-up paddling and Jet Skiing - things I'd never done before. Or being with people I love and just enjoying life. — Lindsey Vonn

Though she hated to stop kissing, Luce held Daniel's warm face in her hands. She gazed into his violet eyes, trying to draw strength.
"I'm sorry," she said. "For running off like I did."
"Don't be," he said,slowly and with absolute sincerity. "You had to go. It was preordained; it had to happen." He smiled again. "We did what we needed to do,Lucinda."
A jet of warmth shot through her,making her dizzy. "I was starting to think I'd never see you again."
"How many times have I told you that I will always find you? — Lauren Kate

We're going on a, um, windmill tour later this week."
If I'd wanted to shut them all up, I'd definitely succeeded. They all looked stunned.
Adrian spoke first. "I'm going to assume that means he's flying you to Amsterdam on his private jet. If so, I'd like to come along. But not for the windmills. — Richelle Mead

Are there any alternatives? Well, there is the hypothesis that this universe is not unique, but that all possible universes exist, and we find ourselves, not surprisingly, in one that contains life. But that is a cop-out, which dispenses with the attempt to explain anything. And without the hypothesis of multiple universes, the observation that if life hadn't come into existence we wouldn't be here has no significance. One doesn't show that something doesn't require explanation by pointing out that it is a condition of one's existence. If I ask for an explanation of the fact that the air pressure in the transcontinental jet is close to that at sea level, it is no answer to point out that if it weren't, I'd be dead. — Thomas Nagel

While researching this answer, I managed to lock up my copy of Mathematica several times on balloon-related differential equations, and subsequently got my IP address banned from Wolfram|Alpha for making too many requests. The ban-appeal form asked me to explain what task I was performing that necessitated so many queries. I wrote, "Calculating how many rental helium tanks you'd have to carry with you in order to inflate a balloon large enough to act as a parachute and slow your fall from a jet aircraft." Sorry, Wolfram. — Randall Munroe

The principal reason for the universe's poker face is that its constituents are far away. Stars careen through space, and galaxies spin at speeds thousands of times faster than a jet plane. But given their distance, you'd need the patience of Job to notice much change in their appearance or position. — Seth Shostak

I'd like to get shot into space. I'd like to potentially visit the moon. I don't know if I can do that in the next couple years, but I spent some time at the jet propulsion lab, looking out at the future of when a guy like me can do a little space travel. — Rob Dyrdek

Hold on a minute." She leaned out the window, shouted at the messenger who'd nearly sideswiped her vehicle with his jet-board. "Police property, asshole. If I had time I'd hunt you down and use that board to beat your balls black."
"Darling Eve, you know how that kind of talk thrills and excites me. How can I keep my mind off sex now? — J.D. Robb

I'm past competing in pissing contests. My jet stream is now more of a trickle. The only contest I'd win is the number of trips to the bathroom it takes to purge a 32oz soda. — Brian MacLearn

Fifteen minutes later I'm hunched over the steering wheel of a two-seater that looks like something you'd find in your corn flakes packet. The Smart is insanely cute and compact, does about seventy miles to a gallon, and is the ideal second car for nipping about town but I'm not nipping about town. I'm going flat out at maybe a hundred and fifty kilometers per hour on the autobahn while some joker is shooting at me from behind with a cannon that fires Porsches and Mercedes. Meanwhile, I'm stuck driving something that handles like a turbocharged baby buggy. I've got my fog lights on in a vain attempt to deter the other road users from turning me into a hood ornament, but the jet wash every time another executive panzer overtakes me keeps threatening to roll me right over onto my roof. And that's before you factor in the deranged Serbian truck drivers driven mad with joy by exposure to a motorway that hasn't been cluster-bombed and then resurfaced by the lowest bidder. — Charles Stross

Furi gripped Syn's ass in a grip sure to leave finger-marks and slammed his hot mouth over his cock, taking him down to the base in one swallow. An animalistic lust coursed through him with an intensity he'd never felt. Syn was hit hard with hunger and he roughly grabbed two handfuls of Furi's hair and pumped his cock as far down his throat as it could go while he loudly groaned his release. Sweltering heat surrounded his cock as he shot jet after jet of hot, thick come inside that heavenly cavern. Syn had absolutely no poise or courtesy as he used the hell out of Furi's mouth, fucking his dick in between those pretty pink lips until he had no strength left. Furi — A.E. Via

They say that in D.C., all the museums and the monuments have been concessioned out and turned into a tourist park that now generates about 10 percent of the Government's revenue.
The Feds could run the concession themselves and probably keep more of the gross, but that's not the point. It's a philosophical thing. A back-to-basics thing. Government should govern. It's not in the entertainment industry, is it? Leave entertaining to Industry weirdos
people who majored in tap dancing. Feds aren't like that. Feds are serious people. Poli-sci majors. Student council presidents. Debate club chairpersons. The kinds of people who have the grit to wear a dark wool suit and a tightly buttoned collar even when the temperature has greenhoused up to a hundred and ten degrees and the humidity is thick enough to stall a jumbo jet. The kinds of people who feel most at home on the dark side of a one-way mirror. — Neal Stephenson

So three days before the millennium, Bianca called. "D'ya wanna go to the White House with Trisha and me?" By Trisha, she meant country singer Trisha Yearwood, whose record label, MCA, she'd recently been hired to work at. "When would that be, exactly?" I asked. "For that Millennium Concert at the Lincoln Memorial. There's a party at the White House after and all." She always talked like she was chewing gum between words. "They're flying us there in a private jet. Ya don't need to write about it. Just come as Trisha's guest. It'll be fun." "Shit, I'm supposed to go ice-skating with some guys who think the world's going to end. Give me a day to figure things out and I'll get right back to you. — Neil Strauss

Sandy was particularly destructive because it was prevented from moving back out to sea by a "blocking pattern" associated with the jet stream. There's debate about this, but one recent study suggested that melting sea ice in the Arctic may lead to such blocking. — Nicholas D. Kristof

Thank you, Men, for the railroads. Thank you, Men, for inventing the automobile and killing the red Indians who thought it might be nice to hold on to America for a while longer, since they were here first. Thank you, Men, for the hospitals, the police, the schools. Now I'd like to vote, please, and have the right to set my own course and make my own destiny. Ince I was chattel, but now that is obsolete. My days of slavery must be over; I need to be a slave no more than I need to cross the Atlantic Ocean in a tiny boat with sails. Jet planes are safer and quicker than little boats with sails and freedom makes more sense than slavery. I am not afraid of flying. Thank you, Men. — Stephen King

A strange jet-lag numbness filled my head. I couldn't separate the boundary between what was real and what only seemed real. Here I was, on a small Greek island, sharing a meal with a beautiful older woman I'd met only the day before. This woman loved Sumire. But couldn't feel any sexual desire for her. Sumire loved this woman and desired her. I loved Sumire and felt sexual desire for her. Sumire liked me but didn't love me, and didn't feel any desire for me. I felt sexual desire for a woman who will remain anonymous. But I didn't love her. It was all so complicated, like something out of an existential play. — Haruki Murakami

Their nineteen-sixties with the flowers in the guns and their summers of love, as if all we'd had was winter, all we'd had was rations. Just very good at keeping quiet, is what we were. We had to be. It was the way. Them with their jet-age. — Ali Smith

I wouldn't mind if the consumer culture went poof! overnight because then we'd all be in the same boat and life wouldn't be so bad, mucking about with the chickens and feudalism and the like. But you know what would be absolutely horrible. The worst? ... If, as we were all down on earth wearing rags and husbanding pigs inside abandoned Baskin-Robbins franchises, I were to look up in the sky and see a jet
with just one person inside even
I'd go berserk. I'd go crazy. Either everyone slides back into the Dark Ages or no one does. — Douglas Coupland

Every phrase had to be captured on paper or it wasn't real, it slipped away. I'd see the words hanging in midair
Camille, pass the milk
and anxiety coiled up in me as they began to fade, like jet exhaust. Writing them down, though, I had them. No worries that they'd become extinct. I was a lingual conservationist. I was the class freak, a tight, nervous eighth-grader frenziedly copying down phrases ("Mr. Feeney is totally gay," "Jamie Dobson is ugly," "They never have chocolate milk") with a keenness bordering on the religious. — Gillian Flynn

You could drop Tony Stark naked in the middle of the desert and he'd fly out in a jet made of sand and cactus needles. It's not his *stuff* that gives him power. It's his *brain*. Try using yours. You'll be amazed the difference it makes. — Charles Soule

Rap is supposed to be about keeping it real and not relinquishing your roots in the community. Without that, it's just posturing. Somebody who claims to speak for the 'hood don't need no private jet. — Chuck D

A man and his young son crouched in the woods just before sunset, out where Palm Beach County meets the Everglades. Their eyes focused on the train tracks a few yards away, a tight bend just past the clearing where Pratt & Whitney tests its jet engines. A shiny new Lincoln penny sat on one of the rails. "Why are we doing this, Daddy?" "To get a flat penny." "What for?" "Because it's fun!" A train whistle blew in the distance. "Here she comes! Get down!" The pair crouched and waited, the train growing closer. It was in sight before they knew it, nothing but a blur as it entered the bend and hit the penny. There was a harsh grinding of metal. The father and son watched in astonishment as The Silver Stingray jumped the tracks and twenty cars jackknifed down the embankment toward the swamp. "Daddy? Did we do that?" "How'd you like some ice cream? — Tim Dorsey

I don't have famous neighbours and if I did, I'd avoid them. I don't live the jet-set. — Vanessa Paradis

I didn't bring my headphones, I'd watched the two movies they had played and I was just like, 'Can we please find a donor that wants to give us a private jet? This is not Okay.' — Cat Osterman

Came the day of the first trial. The propellants were hydrazine and WFNA. We were all gathered around waiting for the balloon to go up, when Dr. Milton Scheer(Uncle Milty) warned,
"Hold it - the acid valve is leaking!"
"Go ahead - fire anyway!" Paul ordered.

I looked around and signaled to my own gang, and we started backing away gently, like so many cats with wet feet. — John D. Clark

I was kind of in awe of Jet and Roxie, seeing as their stories had hit the paper then they'd had books written about their love affairs with their current husbands. — Kristen Ashley

But the stories you told yourself
which you pretended to recall as if they'd happened every afternoon of an infinite summer
were really a pocketful of days distorted into legend, another jailhouse exaggeration, like the dimensions of those ballpoint-crosshatched tits or of the purported mountains of blow you once used to enjoy, or how you'd bellowed an avenger's roar when you squeezed the trigger of a pistol you'd actually brandished in self-pissing terror. How often had that hydrant even been opened? Did you jet water through a car window, what, twice at best? Summer burned a few afternoons long, in the end. — Jonathan Lethem

If everyone followed the rules, we wouldn't be human ... And I'd choose that than being a Robot over any day. — Jet Raymond Hodgkin