Running T Shirt Quotes & Sayings

Aah, woodpecker! Help!" Cedar shouted. "Woodpecker! Girl made of wood! Not a good combo!" "I'll help you!" Hunter cried. "Here we go," Cupid said, rubbing her hands together. "It's shirt-ripping time." Sure enough, Hunter ripped off his shirt and posed. Invisible horns played a heroic fanfare. Hunter lifted his ax and chased the woodpecker. Which was chasing Cedar. "Aah, ax!" Cedar said, still running. "A woodpecker! And an ax! Aah! — Shannon Hale

What are you terrible at?" I asked, running my hand across his starched shirt. Encouraged by the touch, Maxon drew circles on my shoulder with the hand he had wrapped behind my back.
"Why would you want to know that?" He asked in mock irritation.
"Becaue I still know so little about you. And you seem perfect all the time.It's nice to have proof you aren't.
He propped himself up on an elbow, focusing on my face.
"You know I'm not."
"Pretty close,' I countered. Little flickers of touch ran betwen us. Knees, arms, fingers.
He shook his head, a small smile on his face. "Okay then. I can't plan wars. I'm rotten at it. And I'm guessing I'd be a terrible cook. I've never tried, so-"
"Never?"
"You might have noticed the teams of people keeping you up to your neck in pastries? They happen to feed me as well. — Kierra Cass

In a flash, we're through the door, across the street and into the woods, running for no reason and laughing for no reason and totally out of breath and out of our minds when Brian catches me by my shirt, whips me around, and with one strong hand flat against my chest, he pushes me against a tree and kisses me so hard I go blind. — Jandy Nelson

The small launch bay was littered with debris. A powerful breeze tore at his black silk shirt as Kilroy made his way across it to the waiting shuttle, evoking a feeling like the fingers of fate were caressing his body. "The Hammer" stepped over the body of one of his fallen crew without a trace of care or concern. The air was rushing past him, like a wind, out into space through the wounds in the side of his ship. Fatigued and desperate, the Hammer was running out of options. His ship was a mess, holed in a dozen places, the life support systems failing. Weakened hull sections were collapsing in pressure bursts. The vibrations that shook the deck beneath him now were not from the engines that once drove her forward, but now from the explosions down below, tearing her apart. — Christina Engela

And running, Will thought, Boy, it's the same old thing. I talk. Jim runs. I tilt stones, Jim grabs the cold junk under the stones and - lickety-split! I climb hills. Jim yells off church steeples. I got a bank account. Jim's got the hair on his head, the yell in his mouth, the shirt on his back and the tennis shoes on his feet. How come I think he's richer? Because, Will thought, I sit on a rock in the sun and old Jim, he prickles his arm-hairs by moonlight and dances with hoptoads. I tend cows. Jim tames Gila monsters. Fool! I yell at Jim. Coward! he yells back. And here we - go! — Ray Bradbury

My sense of style is an old Polo shirt, jeans and, unfortunately for the longest time, white running shoes, which was not attractive. The one thing I've learned about clothes is to ask a girl. — Matthew Perry

There can be no whiter whiteness than this one: An insurance man's shirt on its morning run. — Gwendolyn Brooks

The photoshoot glitz and TV studio make-up isn't the real me. I spend most days at home in Bristol in jeans and a T-shirt running around after the kids or shopping in the Co-op. — Carol Vorderman

Are you gonna put your shirt back on?" she blurted out.
Chase froze, looking over his shoulder at her with the most maddening smile. "Why? Is this bothering you?"
"I just ... " Andie sputtered, floundering through her response. "I mean, what if we get pulled over or something?"
"If we get pulled over, this could only work in your favor," he said, running his hands over his chest.
Andie tried to stifle a laugh. "My God, you're insufferable. — Priscilla Glenn

The man walked past me and stopped, observing the blood running down my neck.
"Your injury. Let us tend to it." He looked out through the open doorway and silently gestured to someone out there. "Our world," he said, "is far more advanced than yours. For reasons you'll understand shortly."
A thin, bony, naked woman entered the room, carrying two small, white kittens. She sat one of the fluffy cats in my lap and stuffed the other down my shirt. She turned and left.
"There," said the large man. "The kittens will make your sad go away. — David Wong

Practically turned green and ripped your shirt off while running toward her. Man, I thought he was dead when you hit him. — R.D. Cole

Just play it cool," Dax says.
He has forced me to don a pair of dark gray slacks and a white button-up shirt. Contrary to his protests, I have pushed the sleeves of the shirt up past my elbows, but I make sure the scars on my arm, which spell out Daphne's name, are covered. I feel overly warm and suffocated in these clothes. "I don't understand. You want me to pretend to be cold?" I fake a shiver. "Like this? What's the point?"
Dax tries to stifle a laugh - not very well - and I realize I've been tripped up by another one of these "figures of speech" that I keep running into. I'm beginning to hate the English language. — Bree Despain

I spin around and see Max running toward me in a gray Armani shirt. "Dante. Oh, Dante. Seal me! Seal me so hard!" He grabs my hips and pumps his toward mine. "Oh, Dante! You're so hot when you seal souls!"
I shove my idiot-of-a-best-friend off me and laugh. — Victoria Scott

He had on a funny T-shirt, as usual. Today's featured acartoon figure running from a giant T. rex, and it read EXERCISE: SOME MOTIVATIONREQUIRED. — Rachel Caine

Wiping the rivulet of sweat running down my ear with the bottom of my muscle shirt, I snuck a sniff under my pit. Whoa. Kill a moose — Julie Anne Peters

He reached once more for his book. Instead of his shirt.
"Did you run out of clothes? "
"No?" He looked down, as if just noticing that he was partially exposed.
"I had to bandage some of the cuts I got after running back here."
"But you have your bandages on now."
"Astute as ever, Princess. Am I offending your maidenly senses again? Can I not luxuriate in a single evening without the threat of bodily injury? — Roshani Chokshi

The thought sent chills running down her spine.
Or, Cameron supposed, maybe the chill had something to do with the fact that she was still standing in the air-conditioned hallway wearing nothing but her T-shirt and underwear.
Classy. — Julie James

The hot water running over my swollen hands was an amazing sensation, unlike anything I had ever felt before, and truthfully, not something I was eager to experience ever again. It was somewhere between an immensely powerful itch and searing agony, and I almost yelled out loud. I got out of the shower and put more calamine on my hands, and the throbbing died down to a kind of background torment. My hands felt numb and clumsy, and I had some trouble using them to get dressed. But rather than ask for help with the zipper and my shirt's buttons, I fumbled my clean clothes on all by myself, and soon I was seated at the kitchen table with a very welcome cup of coffee of my very own. I — Jeff Lindsay

We circled around and came in from the northwest." I lifted my wrist to show him the compass on my watch band, although I hoped that, being the pilot, he knew we'd approached from the northwest. "I was looking out the window. I saw a woman running down the street. There was a pack of dogs after her and a guy with a switchblade down the street in the direction she was running."
"Ma'am," he said, still very patiently. I reached out and took a fistful of his shirt. Actually, at the last moment, I grabbed the air in front of his shirt. I didn't think security could throw me out of the airport for grabbing air in a threatening fashion, not even in this post-9/11 age.
"Don't ma'am me . . . — C.E. Murphy

The biggest enemy of an artist is apathy ... A kid gets killed by the police and I buy a T-shirt and before I can wear that one, there's another kid (killed) and I'm running out of closet space. — Dave Chappelle

If you weren't there, how do you know someone pushed her?" Sergeant Kenn asked.
"Well ... ," said Jared.
"And what were you doing, running through a strange town at night?"
"I was jogging?" Jared offered.
"Without your shirt or your shoes?"
"Uh," said Jared. — Sarah Rees Brennan

Doesn't he own a shirt?" I asked, grabbing a spade. "Unfortunately, I don't think so. Not even in the winter. He's always running around half-dressed." She groaned. "Its disturbing that I have to see so much of his ... skin. Yuck." Yuck for her. And hot damn for me. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

He removed his unvaluable valuables and dumped his shirt, pants, and skivvies into a letter slot. — Stephen King

He spun round under her grip. She smelled so good, her touch so soft as she unhooked the buttons on his tunic. Pushing the shirt apart she frowned, her hands running over the thin scars through his tattoos. 'And you belong to him, too. — Jessica O'Toole

Kris was in black running shorts and a tight gray T-shirt constructed from some sort of magical material that clung to his muscles and triggered a gush of epinephrine while her amygdala attempted to reconcile two conflicting signals from her prefrontal cortex: attraction and revenge. "All — Sarah Strohmeyer

I was not a happy runner. I did it to stay interested in my body, to stay informed, and to set up clear lines of endeavor, a standard to meet, a limit to stay within. I was just enough of a puritan to think there must be some virtue in rigorous things, although I was careful not to overdo it. I never wore the clothes. the shorts, tank top, high socks. Just running shoes and a lightweight shirt and jeans. I ran disguised as an ordinary person. — Don DeLillo

I drank some coffee and my outlook improved immensely. I was ready to write some poems and, I don't know, get drunk, run around, take my shirt off and get kicked out of someplace. You know, live a little. — Michelle Tea

Everything has taken on a strange, distant quality - the sounds of running and shouting outside get warped and weird like they're being filtered through water, and Alex looks miles away. I start to think I might be dreaming, or about to pass out.
And then I decide I'm definitely dreaming, because as I'm watching, Alex starts peeling his shirt off over his head. — Lauren Oliver

Whose truth do you want to know, Dr. Amin Jaafari? The truth of a Bedouin who thinks he's free and clear because he's got an Israeli passport? The truth of a serviceable Arab per excellence who's honored wherever he goes, who gets invited to fancy parties by people who want to show how tolerant and considerate they are? The truth of someone who thinks he can change sides like changing a shirt, with no trace left behind? Is that the truth you're looking for, or is it the one you're running away from? What planet do you live on, sir? ... Our cities are being buried by machines on caterpillar tracks, our patron saints don't know which way to turn, and you, simply because you're nice and warm in your golden cage, refuse to see the inferno consuming us. — Yasmina Khadra

She felt woozy, as if she'd been running around on a full stomach in the August heat. A big man in a white undershirt stood behind the cash register. His shoulders were hairy and crimson with sunburn, and there was a line of zinc painted on his nose. A white plastic tag on his shirt said PETE. — Joe Hill

She sighed. Loudly. "Physical appearance is not what is important."
Yeah right. Tell that to any girl who hasn't bothered to put on a presentable shirt or fix her hair because she's only running into the grocery store to get a quart of milk for her grandmother, and who does she see tending the 7-ITEMS-OR-LESS cash register but the guy of her dreams, except she can't even say hi - much less try to develop a meaningful relationship - since she looks like the poster child for the terminally geeky. — Vivian Vande Velde

A small hole in his shirt revealed a gooey red blob right in the meaty part above his armpit, blood pouring from the wound. It hurt. It hurt bad. If he'd thought his headache downstairs had been tough, this was like three or four of those, all smashed into a coil of pain right there in his shoulder. And spreading through the rest of his body.
Newt was at his side, looking down with worried eyes.
"He shot me." It just came out, a new number one on the list of the dumbest things he'd ever said. The pain, like living metal staples running through his insides, pricking and scratching with their little sharp points. He felt his mind going dark for the second time that day. — James Dashner

Hello, Aaron," Brigid said, sliding up to him and running a finger down his chest. "You're
looking good .
. as always."
Aaron lifted her finger off his shirt and let it drop. "Put some clothing on, Brigid."
She smiled up at him. "Why? Tempted?"
"Yeah, to cover my eyes. — Kelley Armstrong

She slipped her hands beneath the front of his shirt, slowly running her fingertips over his chest and back down to his waist. He turned in her arms and smiled, but his grin was filled with mocking suspicion. "Are you trying to distract me, Violet Ambrose?"
"I guess you're smarter than you look," she teased as he pushed her backward so that they both fell on her bed.
"And you are not as funny as you think you are." His mouth hovered over hers, his arms tightening, crushing her against him. Violet giggled and tried to squirm free, but Jay wouldn't let her. He kissed her throat, his lips teasing her until it wasn't his grip that made it hard for Violet to breathe.
"Oh, and Violet, he whispered against her ear, his breath tickling her cheek, "I'm still your best friend. Don't ever forget it." His words were fervent and touching. — Kimberly Derting

On the plane, an eight-year-old with an excess of testosterone keeps running across my feet. Finally I grab him by his T-shirt and say, very sweetly, 'Listen, darling, if you don't stop trampling me I'm going to make you sit on my lap while I tell you my entire life story. Including a lot of details about drug rehab and my divorce.' He goes back to his seat. — Rosanne Cash

HOW TO TRIUMPH LIKE A GIRL I like the lady horses best, how they make it all look easy, like running 40 miles per hour is as fun as taking a nap, or grass. I like their lady horse swagger, after winning. Ears up, girls, ears up! But mainly, let's be honest, I like that they're ladies. As if this big dangerous animal is also a part of me, that somewhere inside the delicate skin of my body, there pumps an 8-pound female horse heart, giant with power, heavy with blood. Don't you want to believe it? Don't you want to lift my shirt and see the huge beating genius machine that thinks, no, it knows, it's going to come in first. — Ada Limon

Alex's T-shirt is red, and for a second I think it's a trick of the light, but then I realise he's drenched, soaked in blood: blood seeping across his chest, like the stain seeping up the sky, bringing another day to the world. Behind him is that insect army of men, all running toward him at once, guns drawn. The guards are coming too, reaching for him from both sides ... The helicopter has him fixed in it's spotlight. He is standing white and still and frozen in its beam, and I don't think I have ever, in my life, seen anything more beautiful than him. — Lauren Oliver

A thump thump thump noise that was so unfamiliar, and yet I couldn't quite place it. But I knew it. It was
"Mmm-hmmm," Monica murmured, just as Wes came view into the path. He was running, his pace quick and steady. He was in shorts, his shirt off, staring ahead as he passed. His back was tan and gleaming with sweat.
God god!" she said finally, fanning her face with her hand, "I've seen it a million times but it just never gets old. Never. — Sarah Dessen

Finally, he smiled, and although his smile was bumpy because some of his teeth were jagged and broken, it was a warming, infectious smile that was reflected in his eyes. It made her smile widely in return. She felt as if the room had been lit up. He held out his arms, and she went across the room to him, almost running. She buried her face in his shirt, her nose wrinkling up as the scent of his cologne mixed with the nutty, sourish smell of camphor that filled the room. He put his arms around her, but gently, so that there was space between his forearms and her back, holding her as if she was to fragile to hug properly. Awkwardly, he patted her light, bushy aureole of dark brown hair, repeating: Good girl. Fine daughter. — Helen Oyeyemi

Whether I'm running on the beach without my shirt or whether I'm going out with my kids or going to church or going out to dinner - I don't choose to insulate myself in engaging in real life. Hence, the public kind of almost knows me as much through my real life that they see through the rag mags. — Matthew McConaughey