Macanaccady Quotes & Sayings

What?" I said. "It's the smart play." "That's what," she responded. "This is usually the part where you explain how it's strategically necessary for you to go in there alone and naked with nothing but a pair of fingernail clippers." "I don't have to try to impress you anymore," I explained. "We're already having sex. — Elliott James

Wilson has some fancy name for it, but
I call lit macanaccady. Anything I can't analyze in the eating
line I call macanaccady and anything wet that puzzles me I call
shallamagouslem. — L.M. Montgomery

Community is a place where the connections felt in our hearts make themselves known in the bonds between people, and where the tuggings and pullings of those bonds keep opening our hearts. — Parker J. Palmer

I'm speechless. But my dick has plenty to say. I'm already hard at the idea of Wes being prepped and ready for me. I drop my mouth onto his and he moans again. My tongue glides across his piercing and we're off to the horny dog races. We kiss as if there's a meteor heading straight for the Toronto metropolitan area. Wes's eager hands roam my ass while I suck on his tongue. His eagerness is like a drug, and I want hit after hit. I can feel how hard he is, even through all of our clothes. He wants me to fuck him, and he's all primed and ready? "Mmm," I moan into his mouth. Sexiest fucking thing I ever heard. That's when the doorbell rings. "Hold that thought," I say, pushing up on one arm. "Nooooo!" Wes lifts both his legs to trap me in them. "No." Kiss. "No." Kiss. "Don't even think about it." Pinning his hands to the quilt is easy, because he's horny to the point of distraction. "Stop it, baby. It's the couch delivery. We're paying seventy-five bucks for them to show up on a Saturday. — Sarina Bowen

I didnt start really making changes in my life until I was actually in my mid-20s. And all of a sudden I was like, wait a minute. I was trying so hard to be what I thought I was supposed to be, instead of just allowing myself to be what I-what I was or what I am. — Meg Tilly

Late one night, during a toss-and-turn fretful sleep, I pondered my crisis. No solutions were on the horizon. I, again, wasted my psychic energy with prayer. Nothing. No angel on a white cloud. No rainbow's pot of gold. No way to control the people I loved. As I rolled over and put the pillow over my head attempting to block all that was negative, I silently screamed for rescue. Then, in a far away and distinct part of my brain, a small voice said, "You have to do this on your own."

I thought, "Was that the best You can do?" This god, to whom I was desperately sending burnt offerings of my own humiliation, couldn't send an avenging angel or a wise man imparting wisdom? All You can give me is this feeble message of abandonment? At that moment, I quit believing in that god. — David W. Earle