Stomach Then Small Quotes & Sayings

You are her mother.
Why did you not warn her,
hold her like a rotting boat
and tell her that men will not love her
if she is covered in continents,
if her teeth are small colonies,
if her stomach is an island
if her thighs are borders?

What man wants to lie down
and watch the world burn
in his bedroom?

Your daughter 's face is a small riot,
her hands are a civil war,
a refugee camp behind each ear,
a body littered with ugly things.

But God,
doesn't she wear
the world well? — Warsan Shire

started to sit up, but his hand snaked around my stomach and pulled me back to him. "You should try to get some more sleep," he said. "I can't," I said. "Not until this is over." He sat up beside me, taking my hand in his and quickly kissing the back of it before suggesting, "Run?" The man knows me. I glanced out the small window. The sun was yet to appear on the horizon and rain fell lightly, but the wind had eased for now. I beamed. "Coffee first." He laughed as he stood up and tossed me a T-shirt. "Coffee first." And it turns out, even when the world might be about to end, a girl can still swoon. — Jessica Shirvington

The women looked naked, in a way that women never do in skin magazines. These women were real, with the fine roughening of skin here and there, the tiny sag at the breast, the small folds across the stomach that real women, and men, have. It made them more, rather than less, seductive, I thought, because it emphasized their nakedness, and in a sense their vulnerability. It also made me feel a little sadder for them. That kind of vulnerability shouldn't be handed around. It was for someone who loved you and was vulnerable too. — Robert B. Parker

I don't eat food, I Thom Yorke it. What's the difference? When normal people "eat" food, they first chew it with their "teeth" until it's small enough to go through their "esophagus" and then be broken down in their "stomach" and absorbed. When I Thom Yorke food, I chew it with my Thom Yorkes until it's small enough to go through my Yorke tube. It's then broken down in my Thomach, where if I eat too much sweets, I get a mean Thommy ache! But it's okay because Jonny's usually there to rub the pain out. — Thom Yorke

She picked up a taco, took a big bite, and moaned as it made its way down to her stomach. "I want to marry this taco."
"Lucky taco."
Honor stilled. That voice. That one-of-a-kind masculine scent. Bryce stood right behind her. — Robin Bielman

I get a small quiver of shame in my stomach whenever I remember it. — Lemony Snicket

One of the things that strikes me most though is how some people don't realise they're self-harming. The phrase 'self-harm' brings up thoughts of 'cutting', but that's only a small portion of it. When you drink excessively to drown your sorrows to the point you throw up and can't see straight and/or, like a girl at my school, ended up being driven to hospital to have her stomach pumped, you've brought harm to yourself. If you take drugs to feel numb and it becomes an addiction that you can't break, you've self-harmed. When you starve yourself or binge eat to fit the latest fashions, you're pushing your body further than it can go.
We need to start treating ourselves how we deserve to be treated, even if you feel that no one else does. Prove to the world you ARE worth something by treating yourself with the utmost respect and hope that other people will follow your example. And even if they don't, at least one person in the world is treating you well: YOU. — Carrie Hope Fletcher

At first, they told me it was just bile-duct cancer, but once they went in, they removed the gallbladder, the head of my pancreas, and a foot-and-a-half of my small intestine, and built me another bile duct and connected it to my stomach. It turned out to be pancreatic cancer, stage two, so, very aggressive. — Sharon Jones

Making a Fist
For the first time, on the road north of Tampico,
I felt the life sliding out of me,
a drum in the desert, harder and harder to hear.
I was seven, I lay in the car
watching palm trees swirl a sickening pattern
past the glass.
My stomach was a melon split wide inside my skin.
"How do you know if you are going to die?"
I begged my mother.
We had been traveling for days.
With strange confidence she answered,
"When you can no longer make a fist."
Years later I smile to think of that journey,
the borders we must cross separately,
stamped with our unanswerable woes.
I who did not die, who am still living,
still lying in the backseat behind all my questions,
clenching and opening one small hand. — Naomi Shihab Nye

The rowdy gang of singers who sat at the scattered tables saw Arthur walk unsteadily to the head of the stairs, and though they must have all known that he was dead drunk, and seen the danger he would soon be in, no one attempted to talk to him and lead him back to his seat. With eleven pints of beer and seven small gins playing hide-and-seek inside his stomach, he fell from the top-most stair to the bottom. — Alan Sillitoe

There was nowhere to go, but I turned to go and met Atticus's vest front. I buried my head in it and listened to the small internal noises that went on behind the light blue cloth: his watch ticking, the faint crackle of his starched shirt, the soft sound of his breathing.
'Your stomach's growling,' I said.
'I know it,' he said. — Harper Lee

She rose and walked to the small fireplace, where a kettle had been set long before supper. It was gently steaming now. She caught up a rag and reached for the handle, but another, much bigger, hand got there first. Lily gave a tiny jump, watching wide-eyed as Caliban picked up the hot kettle as easily as lifting a twig. At least he'd had enough sense to shield his palm from the heat with a rag. He stood blank-faced until she pulled herself together. "In here." She stepped gingerly around his bulk and led him into the little bedroom. A tin hip bath was waiting, laid beside the bed on some old cloths. It was already half full of cold water. "You can pour it in there." He lifted the hem of his shirt to hold the bottom of the kettle and she caught an unsettling flash of his stomach. Hastily she looked away, her cheeks heating. — Elizabeth Hoyt

To have a full stomach and fixed income are no small things . — Elbert Hubbard

What plan of action? What can be done? We can't fight the whole society."
"I was thinking we could use you as bait and draw them into a trap," Gregori said, straight-faced.
Gary's eyes widened in alarm. "I'm not sure I like that plan. Sounds a little risky to me." He looked at Savannah for support.
Gregori shrugged his broad shoulders in a casual shrug. "I do not see a risk."
Savannah's small clenched fist thumped his stomach in retaliation. Gregori glanced down at her with surprise. "Is this when I am supposed to say ouch?"
Savannah and Gary exchanged a long, mournful groan. "Why did I want him to have a sense of humor?" she wondered.
Gary shook his head. "Don't be asking me. You created the monster. — Christine Feehan

So, no, when I mention "tolerance", I'm not talking about learning how to stomach pure awfulness. What I am talking about is learning how to accommodate your life as generously as possible about a basically decent human being who can sometimes be an unmitigated pain in the ass. In this regard, the marital kitchen can become something like a small linoleum temple where we are called up daily to practice forgivenessm as we ourselves would like to be forgiven. Mundane this may be, yes. Devoid of any rock star moments of divine ecstacy, certainly. But maybe such tiny acts of household tolerance are a miracle in some other way - in some quietly measureless way - all the same? — Elizabeth Gilbert

The assassin nodded. His eyes glinted in amusement, holding her gaze for a moment too long. And perhaps she saw his expression soften...but she didn't want to read too much into it. She gave him a little wave and turned to leave, her heart pounding strangely in her chest. She remembered the brush of his strong calloused hands, his long nimble fingers, and his arms trapping her against the railing, She thought of his full attention upon her, observing each small movement, every flaw and breath.

Tomorrow they would train again. Her stomach tightened at the thought. She hoped he didn't notice her response to his touch-but deep down inside, she knew he saw everything. — T.L. Shreffler

As they approached a puddle, he laid his hand against the small of her back to steer her around it, and her stomach flipped over.
Stupid, traitorous stomach, performing acrobatics for the likes of Dom Manton. Why couldn't it do that with Edwin? He, at least, wanted to marry her.
But sadly, Edwin didn't have smoldering eyes the exotic color of the finest jade. Or hair cropped unfashionably short, which only emphasized the carved masculine lines of his face. Or a body that looked so amazing in blue superfine it made a grown woman want to weep.
She would not weep over Dom's body, curse it! — Sabrina Jeffries

There was a rupture in the fabric of space inside the truck, and a rift developed that connected worlds and dimensions. William Connoley, travelling book-salesman and keeper of the portal between the worlds, saw shimmers of a room with a large, dark, wooden table laden with mysterious utensils, a chair, glass-like shards on the floor, vials, small windows, shelves with jars, and many other things he had never seen before. The vision, strange as it was, only lasted seconds, but it burnt itself into his memory. Then a bright flash of light took away his eyesight momentarily, while an invisible roller-coaster-like sensation filled his stomach with the most unwelcome and sickening feeling. There was a roaring sound, and suddenly smoke filled the cabin, chasing William into the street as he coughed and gasped for air. His eyes burnt from the grey fumes. — Paul Kater

Your gut includes the stomach, small intestine, large intestine (which includes the colon), liver, and gallbladder. The gut is responsible for ensuring that you absorb the nutrients of the food you eat, properly expel waste and toxins, and maintain a strong immune system. Yet not only is it critical for these everyday functions, your gut also holds a life force of its own. Food does not digest just from the physical process of food breakdown (a process scientific study hasn't fully pieced together); there are also critical spiritual and metaphysical factors involved in digestion. That's why enlightened beings on the planet employ eating techniques such as slow and thorough chewing; mindful, present eating; prayer before, during, or after meals; and becoming one with your food. — Anthony William

Phew!" His small blue eyes shone with repugnance, a look of such unreasoning contempt for my skin that it filled me with despair. It was a little thing, but piled on all the other little things it broke something in me. Suddenly I had had enough. Suddenly I could stomach no more of this degradation - not of myself but of all men who were black like me. — John Howard Griffin

Stop thinking," Brian whispered. He ran two fingers up under the edge of her T-shirt, teasing her stomach. "Let me make it good for you." Her stomach clenched at his light touch, and his words. "I don't get a say in it?" she teased. "Of course you do," he said, starting a slow, small, side-to-side rocking motion with his hips, brushing his hard dick against her, teasing her. "You can let me, or you can fight me. It can be crazy good when you fight it. — Samantha Kane

Time slowed, and stilled. It was just the two of us, me murmuring in the empty, sunlit room. Will didn't say much. He didn't answer back, or add a dry comment, or scoff. He nodded occasionally, his head pressed against mine, and murmured, or let out a small sound that could have been satisfaction at another good memory.
"It has been, the best six months of my entire life."
"Funnily enough, Clark, mine too."
And then, just like that, my heart broke. My face crumpled, my composure went and I held him tightly and I stopped caring that he could feel the shudder of my sobbing body because grief swamped me. It overwhelmed me and tore at my heart and my stomach and my head and it pulled me under, and I couldn't bear it. — Jojo Moyes

I'm fine," she said. "I'm just hiding from the Queen General and her latest poster boy."
"The Queen General?" Which one of his sisters fit that description?
More like which one didn't.
"Queen General Marilyn," his visitor said. "Supreme ruler of Bliss and chairperson of Knot Festival."
The words 'Knot Festival' twisted CJ's stomach, and the room seemed to climb ten degrees hotter. He tugged at his bow tie. The woman kept talking...
Marilyn rewrote the Golden Husband Games rules so her Exalted Widower is eligible to be named Husband of the Half Century. And you know what? He's the reason my husband left me. — Jamie Farrell

A small spoon of victory is just the thing to settle the stomach before battle, Ser Imry had declared happily. — George R R Martin

But the bottom line is that even though a cup of cooked beans may be listed as 225 calories, they actually give you much fewer calories per cup, a higher percent of protein, and fewer carbohydrates than show up in their analysis. All those listed 225 calories are setting off caloric and nutrient receptors in the stomach and small intestines, registering satiation and telling you that you have eaten enough. — Joel Fuhrman

Now and then, an inch below the water's surface, the muscles of his stomach tightened involuntarily as he recalled another detail. A drop of water on her upper arm. Wet. An embroidered flower, a simple daisy, sewn between the cups of her bra. Her breasts wide apart and small. On her back, a mole half covered by a strap. When she climbed out of the pond a glimpse of the triangular darkness her knickers were supposed to conceal. Wet. He saw it, he made himself see it again. The way her pelvic bones stretched the material clear of the skin, the deep curve of her waist, her startling whiteness. When she reached for her skirt, a carelessly raised foot revealed a patch of soil on each pad of her sweetly diminished toes. Another mole the size of a farthing on her thigh and something purplish on her calf
a strawberry mark, a scar. Not blemishes. Adornments. — Ian McEwan

Lissa slipped off the bed. "Don't say it. Things happen in Sea Haven that can't be explained, and I'm not tying myself to any man, let alone one of those Prakenskii brothers. Can you imagine my personality with a man like that? So domineering. I'd shove him off a cliff. You just can't put something like that out into the universe and not have it come back and bite you in the butt."
"My butt's pretty small," Airiana pointed out. She swept both hands through her thick hair, breathing deeply. She was beginning to feel normal again, although a residue of the nightmare had lodged in the pit of her stomach, leaving her with a vague uneasiness.
"Yes, it is. But I'm kind of curvy. Which means my butt is just big enough for fate to laugh its head off while it bites me. I'm not taking any chances."

-Lissa & Airiana — Christine Feehan

In my dreams a small wolf slept inside of me and it wasn't comfortable. It moved it's heels and elbows and paws, struggled to make space between my lungs, stomach, bladder. Occasionally a scrabbling claw punctured something and I woke. What were you dreaming? Arabella wanted to know. I knew what it was dreaming. It was dreaming of being born. The form and scale of its occupancy shifted. Sometimes its legs were in my legs, its head in my head, its paws in my hands. Other times it was barely the size of a kitten, heartburn hot and fidgety under my sternum. I'd wake and for a moment feel my face changed, reach up and touch the muzzle that wasn't there. — Glen Duncan

I have a bird. Inside." She patted the flat stomach below her small breasts, and for a moment Nicholas thought she had really found food. "She sits in here. She has tangled a nest in my entrails, where she sits and tears at my breath with her beak. I look healthy to you, don't I? But inside I'm hollow and rotten and turning brown, dirt and old feathers, oozing away. Her beak will break through soon. — Gene Wolfe

We humans have known since time immemorial something that science is only now discovering: our gut feeling is responsible in no small measure for how we feel. We are "scared shitless" or we can be "shitting ourselves" with fear. If we don't manage to complete a job, we can't get our "ass in gear." We "swallow" our disappointment and need time to "digest" a defeat. A nasty comment leaves a "bad taste in our mouth." When we fall in love, we get "butterflies in our stomach." Our self is created in our head and our gut - no longer just in language, but increasingly also in the lab. — Giulia Enders

With no navigational skills, her travels became aimless, and after several days she began to experience excruciating hunger, as she had not the foresight to pack food before she set out. She drifted through tiny villages and saw juicy fruits and vegetables growing in the gardens of the peasants, but could not bring herself to beg for food or attempt to steal it. She ate small beetles and grasshoppers, since she had no hunting skills. She chewed on the bitter roots of sassafras trees, which turned her stomach sour but provided a small amount of nourishment. How — Brian Edwards

The past is haunting us. In Queens, in Manhattan, it is shadowing us, punching us in the stomach. I am small, and my father is big. But the Past - it is the biggest. — Gary Shteyngart

See, anxiety doesn't just stop. You can have nice moments, minutes where it shrinks, but it doesn't leave. It lurks in the background like a shadow, like that important assignment you have to do but keep putting off or the dull ache that follows a three-day migraine. The best you can hope for is to contain it, make it as small as possible so it stops being intrusive. Am I coping? Yes, but it's taking a monumental amount of effort to keep the dynamite inside my stomach from exploding. The — Louise Gornall

For several days, I slept. Whether this was a necessary part of physical recovery, or a stubborn retreat from waking reality, I do not know, but I woke only reluctantly to take a little food, falling at once back into a stupor of oblivion, as though the small, warm weight of broth in my stomach were an anchor that pulled me after it, down through the murky fathoms of sleep. — Diana Gabaldon

Cowgirl Interlude (Bonanza Jellybean)
She is lying on the family sofa in flannel pajamas. There is Kansas City mud on the tips and heels of her boots, boots that have yet to savor real manure. Fourteen, she knows she ought to remove her boots, yet she refuses. A Maverick rerun is on TV; she is eating beef jerky, occasionally slurping. On her upper stomach, where her pajama top has ridden up, is a small deep scar. She tells everyone, including her school nurse, that it was made by a silver bullet.
Whatever the origin of the extra hole in her belly, there are unmistakable signs of gunfire int he woodwork by the closet door. It was there that she once shot up one half of an old pair of sneakers. "Self-defense," she pleaded, when her parents complained. "It was a [sic] out-law tennis shoe.
Billy the Ked. — Tom Robbins

A cigarette is a roll of paper, tobacco, and drugs, with a small fire on one end and a large fool at the other. Some of its chief benefits are cancer of the lips and stomach, softening of the brain, funeral procesions, and families shrouded in gloom and grief. Although a great many people know this, they still smoke in order to appear sophisticated. — Ann Landers

I picked up the butter-soft suede shirt and slacks and held them toward Martucci, but he bent over, grabbing at his stomach, and made it into the dark little cubicle in time to vomit into the toilet. He ran the small trickle of water in the sink over his hands, dabbed water on his face, then blotted himself on the rough paper towels. Within the next five minutes, he was dressed and deposited in the rear seat of my car between Haley and Finn. Vito, who had scared the living hell out of the hustler before giving him a kick in the ass out the hotel's side door, sat next to me as I drove. Vito was breathing heavily; it was the only sound in the car. — Dorothy Uhnak

Maybe I'll have a tumour like his someday. At first it will be a small but growing sphere that will branch out, growing larger in my stomach like a fetus. I will probably feel it when it starts to take motion, moving inward with the fury of a sleepwalking child, traveling through my intestines blindly - — Gabriel Garcia Marquez

The dense Yin Organs of the Liver, Heart, Spleen, Lung, and Kidney store the essential and potential energy derived from substances; the hollow Yang Organs of the Gallbladder, Small Intestine, Stomach, Large Intestine, and Bladder process the substances of the external environment. — Harriet Beinfield

She reaches down into her bulging tote bag and pulls out a small plastic box with a hinged lid. It contains a round pill box with a threaded lid from which she tips out a vitamin pill, a fish-oil pill, and the enzyme tablet that lets her stomach digest milk. Inside the hinged plastic box she also carries packets of salt, pepper, horseradish, and hand-wipes, a doll size bottle of Tabasco sauce, chlorine pills for treating drinking water, Pepto-Bismol chews, and God knows what else. If you go to a concert, Bina has opera glasses. If you need to sit on the grass, she whips out a towel. Ant traps, a corkscrew, candles and matches, a dog muzzle, a penknife, a tiny aerosol can of freon, a magnifying glass - Landsman has seen everything come out of that overstuffed cowhide at one time or another. — Michael Chabon

Love turned out to be soul-crippling, stomach-turning, weirdly claustrophobic: a sense of endlessness bottled up inside him, endless weight, endless potential, with only the small outlet of a shivering pale girl in a bad rain jacket to escape through. Touching her was the farthest thing from his mind. The impulse was to throw himself at her feet. — Jonathan Franzen

Found in a small stone cave bitten from the roadside, stitchless save for his great outsized boots and a plague of flies, fat on the human scrappage of dinners long past, Toad squatted in the slitted stomach of a warm child, eating loudly the face of her hapless, headless father, who sat a good foot off the ground impaled up the ass on a pointed post. — Nick Cave

There are things I need to say first. Things you need to hear before we go any further."
She tensed. "Oh, God, are you married?"
He chuckled. "No, nothing like that."
"Good," she replied, letting out a relieved breath.
"I want you to know you've made this very difficult for me. I had a speech prepared. Then I see you like this." His finger continued to trail down her stomach, tracing the rim of her panties. "And I can't even remember my damn name. — Stacey O'Neale

Hey, we're your friends. We wouldn't miss it." "But ... " She stopped herself. "What is it?" I asked. "The prophecy?" "I'm sure it's fine," she said in a small voice. "What was the last line?" Then she did something that really surprised me. She blinked back tears and put out her arms. I stepped forward and hugged her. Butterflies started turning my stomach into a mosh pit. "Hey, it's ... it's okay. — Rick Riordan

An upset stomach was a small price to pay for fiction made real. — Erika Johansen

In other nightmares, in his everyday reality, Victor watched his father take a drink of vodka on a completely empty stomach. Victor could hear that near-poison fall, then hit, flesh and blood, nerve and vein. Maybe it was like lightning tearing an old tree into halves. Maybe it was like a wall of water, a reservation tsunami, crashing onto a small beach. Maybe it was like Hiroshima or Nagasaki. Maybe it was like all that. Maybe. But after he drank, Victor's father would breathe in deep and close his eyes, stretch, and straighten his neck and back. During those long drinks, Victor's father wasn't shaped like a question mark. He looked more like an exclamation point. — Sherman Alexie

The stomach begs and clamors, and listens to no precepts. And yet it is not an obdurate creditor; for it is dismissed with small payment if you give it only what you owe, and not as much as you can. — Seneca The Younger

Quick note here: if this crush-slash-swooning stuff is hard for you to stomach; if you've never had a similar experience, then you should come to grips with the fact that you've got a TV dinner for a heart and might want to consider climbing inside a microwave and turning it on high for at least an hour, which if you do consider only goes to show what kind of idiot you truly are because microwaves are way too small for anyone, let alone you, to climb into. — Mark Z. Danielewski