Pistoning Quotes & Sayings

Nor did she merely smile, she glowed with inner goodness that made him think of the vast iron cookstove in his grandmother's kitchen back on the farm. Here, he knew by certain instinct, was a woman who made wonderful cookies and would give you some. — Charlotte MacLeod

Journalism is the closest thing I have to a religion, because I believe deeply in the role and responsibility the journalists have to the people of a self-governing community. — Bill Kovach

If he died now, Grainier probably wouldn't know it until they came into the light of the gas lamps either side of the doctor's house. After they'd moved along for nearly an hour without conversation, listening only to the creaking wagon and the sound of the nearby river and the clop of the mares, it grew dark. — Denis Johnson

Every thrust was harder and deeper, but he couldn't fuck Tristan hard enough as he drank in the sight of him: his beautiful back and ass, and his own cock pistoning in and out of Tristan's hole. — Alessandra Hazard

Moths must fly to his flame and perish gladly. — Barbara Kingsolver

Flowers have the greatest talent in converting an ordinary place into a magical palace! — Mehmet Murat Ildan

Sage advice? If you're drunk, stay away from the phone. You can't get the answering machine message back. — Janeane Garofalo

Sometimes we just get it wrong. — Stephen King

The invariable question, asked only half-mockingly of reporters by editors at the Post (and then up the hierarchical line of editors) was 'What have you done for me today?' Yesterday was for the history books, not newspapers.
Carl Bernstein, Bob Woodward — Carl Bernstein

If you don't shut up, how can I answer your questions! — Lucero Isaac

You get dinged for wanting to do a comedy, then wanting to do a big-budget action film, and then wanting to do an indie. But you can't let other people trying to label you get in the way of trying to do something artistically. — Nicolas Cage

Yet you still value the things you've lost the most. Because the things you've lost are still perfect in your head. They never rusted. They never broke. They are made of the memories you once had, which only grow rosier and brighter, day by day. They are made of the dreams of how wonderful things could have been and must never suffer the indignity of actually still existing. Of being real. Of having flaws. Of breaking and deteriorating. Only the things you no longer have will always be perfect. — Iain Thomas