Throw Pillow Quotes & Sayings

Lydia had been fantasizing about him to the point she nearly drove him insane with it. It had taken four days for his energy to weaken inside her enough that he could go and visit her without fear she would throw him across the town in a gust of wind, and thus cause a scene. Although, getting run out of town after one day would be a new MacGregor record. — Michelle M. Pillow

But I have no idea what I did last night as - as that creature." Her voice shook. Abby was sure she was suffering a nervous breakdown. They would haul her to the insane asylum and wrap her in a nice white jacket then throw her in one of those pillow rooms - until they decided to strap her to a chair and make her sizzle as if she were a bug in a zapper. Oh my God. — Bonnie Gill

I have a cat, the pet that ranks just above a throw pillow in terms of required responsibility. — Anna Quindlen

Stacey was holding the throw pillow to her mouth now, and all that was visible were her huge, dark brown eyes. When she spoke, her voice was muffled."Who is that?"
I started to explain, but Cayman bowed in her direction extending his arm with a flourish."Only the most handsome and smartest and downright most charming demon there is."But I know that's a mouthful, so you can call me Cayman."
"Um." Her gaze darted around the room."Okay. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

When she turned away, he caught her hand. He waited until she looked back at him. "I need my weapons. Just in case."
"You won't shoot me. Or stab me. Or throw one of those thingies at me."
"No."
She snorted. "How would you know? You don't know what you're doing half the time."
"Still."
She sighed and began stacking weapons on the bed beside the pillow. "Fine. But I'll be royally pissed if you try to kill me again. It's getting old. — Christine Feehan

I don't need to lie down," she groused as she stared at the ceiling over their bed.
When Wrath didn't reply, she turned her head on the pillow and shot a glare in his direction.
He was sitting at the foot of the mattress, shoulders set, jaw locked, huge body still as stone.
"I'm fine," she tacked on.
"Uh-huh."
"This is going to be a really long couple of months if we worry about every little twinge."
"You just tried to throw up your liver."
"I did not."
"So you were working on your pancreas?"
She crossed her arms over her chest.
"I can feel you glaring at me," Wrath said.
"Well, I am. This is ridiculous. — J.R. Ward

I don't even have a dog. I tell people I'm allergic so they won't think less of me. Instead I have a cat, the pet that ranks just above a throw pillow in terms of responsibility required. — Anna Quindlen

She choked on a sob.
She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't. She refused to cry about Gifford.
But then she did. She was a sixteen-year-old girl, after all, and sometimes a sixteen-year-old girl needs to throw herself into a pillow and let the tears come as they may. — Cynthia Hand

After all, as it says on a needlepoint sampler or throw pillow or the occasional bumper sticker: Good girls go to heaven, but bad girls go everywhere. In high heels. Or mules by Manolo Blahnik, the strappy, tangly kind that give you blisters. And when their feet start to hurt, they bitch about it a lot, until someone agrees to carry them home. Bad girls understand that there is no point in being good and suffering in silence. What good has good ever done? We women still only make seventy-one cents, on average, for every man's dollar. We still have to listen to studies telling us that a single woman over the age of 35 had best avoid airplanes because she is more likely to die in a terrorist attack than get married. — Elizabeth Wurtzel

The sun flooded Livvie's apartment. I lay in her bed, smothered in throw pillows of various colors and shapes (seriously ladies, what the fuck with all the pillows?). I felt especially dirty jerking off in her frilly bed. I was sure to wipe up my come with a fuzzy pink pillow. I hoped it would prompt Livvie to throw the damn thing away. — C.J. Roberts

Get out!" He dodges the pillow I throw at him. "Go away! There's nothing left for you here!" I start to shake, furious with him. "She's not coming back! She's never ever coming back here again!" I grab another pillow and get to my feet to improve my aim. Out of nowhere, the tears begin to pour down my cheeks. "She's dead." I clutch my middle to dull the pain. Sink down on my heels, rocking the pillow, crying. "She's dead, you stupid cat. She's dead. — Suzanne Collins

Fi laughs at me, the jerk. "Become real familiar with your hand."
"Pillow," I correct without thinking.
"What?" Her eyes are wide, her smile scandalized.
"Nothing. I said nothing." Fucking booze. I'm never drinking again.
"Sure you didn't, Miss Hump-and-Pump."
The throw pillow flies out of my hand and whacks her face. "Eew," Fi shouts. "This had better not be the pillow!"
"Better smell it and see. — Kristen Callihan

She opened her eyes slowly and saw that a pale lavender moth had come to a rest on the back of her hand. She watched it from her pillow, wondering if it was real. It reminded her of her husband Matt's favorite T-shirt, which she'd hidden in a bag of sewing, unable to throw it away. It had a large faded moth on the front, the logo of a cover band out of Athens called the Mothballs.
That T-shirt, that moth, always brought back a strange memory of when she was a child. She used to draw tattoos of butterflies on her arms with Magic Markers. She would give them names, talk to them, carefully fill in their colors when they started to fade. When the time came that they wanted to be set free, she would blow on them and they would come to life, peeling away from her skin and flying away. — Sarah Addison Allen

She's not here," I tell him. Buttercup hisses again. "She's not here. You can hiss all you like. You won't find Prim." At her name, he perks up. Raises his flattened ears. Begins to meow hopefully. "Get out!" He dodges the pillow I throw at him. "Go away! There's nothing left for you here!" I start to shake, furious with him. "She's not coming back! She's never ever coming back here again!" I grab another pillow and get to my feet to improve my aim. Out of nowhere, the tears begin to pour down my cheeks. "She's dead, you stupid cat. She's dead. — Suzanne Collins

Everybody was so kind. Strong, too. In the darkest days, the Lord puts the best people into your life."
"Quick, give me a throw pillow and some thread because that needs to be an Encouragement, — John Green

People like to say that the opposite of love is not hate but indifference. There tends to be a whispered reverence around the expression, as if it has magical healing powers. Better to be hated than ignored by that angry ex of yours; better to be hated than ignored, generally.

Otherwise, you may spend your life staring straight down the barrel of the opposite of love.

But I think that's bullshit. Nonsense print copy for a paper towel. A sound bit e to needlepoint on a throw pillow. Could indifference really be worse than hate? How depressing to think we could be spending most of our days surrounded by people who feel something worse than hate toward us. — Julie Buxbaum

Women always enter a relationship like they do an apartment. A few flowers here, a throw pillow there - the next thing you know, the walls are covered in pastel paintings. — Dannika Dark

So I was forced to go to school wearing a menstrual pad belt that had been in our first aid drawer since approximately 1961. If you've never seen one of these things, because you haven't been to the antiquities museum, it is a literal belt that goes around your waist, with two straps that dangle down in your front and back cracks, ice cold metal clips holding a small throw pillow in place over your shame canyon. — Lindy West

The first time he snarled, I had a bit of a panic attack."
"She screamed and threw him at me."
Dez scowled at Mace. "I did not throw my son at you. I just handed him over and walked quickly from the room so I could scream into a pillow in our bedroom."
"I found her under the bed with the dogs. — Shelly Laurenston

Thank you. Thank you, Noah, thank you, thank you.
By sundown, Thea could throw the damned thing with deadly accuracy. At bedtime, she asked if Noah would mind if she slept with it under her pillow every night.
He assured her he would not.
* when Thea gets a knife from Noah — Grace Burrowes