Towel Made Quotes & Sayings

Drop that towel, and I'll throw in champagne."
"Tempting." She made her way toward her bedroom. "But since I might be pregnant, I couldn't drink."
He gave a long sigh. "And with those chilling words, the raging fire in his loins vanished. — Susan Elizabeth Phillips

This is some sort of joke, isn't it?" asks Hunt, staring at the flawless blue sky and distant fields.
I cough as lightly and briefly as possible into a handkerchief I have made from a towel borrowed from the inn. "Probably," I say. "But then, what isn't? — Dan Simmons

But Mama
at first I tried to pretend she was only gone, like on a trip. And then when I couldn't do that anymore, I tried to believe she was dead.' Her nose was running, from emotion, whisky, or the heat of the tea. Roger reached for the tea towel hanging by the stove and shoved it across the tabe to her. 'She isn't, though.' She picked up the towel and wiped angrily at her nose. 'That's the trouble! I have to miss her all the time, and know that I'll never see her again, but she isn't even dead! How can I mourn for her, when I think-when I hope-she's happy where she is, when I made her go? — Diana Gabaldon

How long could we remain true to the girls? How long could we keep their memory pure? As it was, we didn't know them any longer, and their new habits - of opening a window, for instance, to throw out a wadded paper towel - made us wonder if we had ever really known them, or if our vigilance had been only the fingerprinting of phantoms. — Jeffrey Eugenides

American's could be any more self absorbed if they were made of equal parts water and paper towel. — Dennis Miller

We write out of our humanity by writing through our direct experience. That which is most personal is most general, which becomes both our insight and protection as a writers. This is our authority as women, as human beings. — Terry Tempest Williams

Suddenly she came racing into the lounge. She wore one of my big blue towels in sarong fashion, and had a white towel wrapped around her head. Her face looked narrow and intent. Her features looked more pointed. "That last trip," she said. "I don't know if it will help. We stopped at some sort of a boat yard in Miami. I can't even remember the name. Something about a new generator. He kept complaining about the noise the generator made. They took up the hatches and got down in the bilge and did a lot of measuring. The man said it would take a long time to get the one Junior Allen wanted. It made him angry. But he ordered it anyway. He left a down payment on it. He ordered some kind of new model that had just been introduced. — John D. MacDonald

Ann put the oven to heat. She washed the lamb under the tap, turning it around to clean the entire leg. Then it was dried with a paper towel, stretched out on the cutting board to be hammered flat, and rubbed with salt and rosemary she took from the kitchen window. She waited for the oven to reach two hundred. The cleaned scent of the meat and the clatter of the water in the skink, the branches of rosemary, the dogs finding each other's ears in the evening, the children being called indoors, servants standing on the road for the Indian bus, and the rising heat of the oven against the remaining heat of the day made her aware of her own happiness. This happiness was like the sea wind when the temperature of the water and the land reversed and everything was free in new darkness. — Imraan Coovadia

I had always liked staying the night with other families, having your own room with a freshly made bed, full of unfamiliar objects, with a towel and a washcloth nicely laid out, and from there straight into the heart of family life, despite there always being, no matter whom I visited, an uncomfortable side, because even though people always try to keep existing tensions in the background whenever guests are present, the tensions are still noticeable, and you can never know if it is your presence that has caused them or whether they are just there and indeed your presence is helping to suppress them. A third possibility is, of course, that all these tensions were just tensions that lived their own lives in my head. — Karl Ove Knausgard

No matter where you go, there you are."

- Buckaroo Banzai — Randy Lindsay

Christy: "My grandma made this. I've had it since elementary school."
Todd: "I never knew that."
Christy: "I never knew you left your towel on the floor."
Todd: "Uh-oh. Is this one of those issues they talked about in our premarital counseling? Should I hang up towels so you feel more loved? — Robin Jones Gunn

I still do have the little lunch bag that my mother made out of a towel and embroidered with my name on it for when I went to kindergarten. — Maira Kalman

Realizing she was only wearing a towel, she said, 'Leave.'
'I tried to. Couldn't do it. A conscience is a terrible thing to acquire. Like it or not, you and I are going to be bonded.'
'Bonded?' She shook her head, only to realize that any kind of movement made the pain worse.
His gaze swept over her towel-covered body 'It could be worse. You could be ugly.'
'Get out of my bathroom! — C.C. Hunter

Once I had her clean, I wrapped her in a towel and carried her back to the bed. A small red bloodstain was on the sheets, and again the possessive monster inside me threw back his head and roared his pleasure. I stood there holding her and letting the proof I was the only man to be inside her wash over me.
Blythe turned her head, and I felt her stiffen in my arms. "Oh, I can clean that up," she said, starting to wiggle.
I pulled her tighter to my chest. "No. I'm going to dry you off and hold you some more. I like seeing that blood. I did that," The pleasure in my voice made Blythe smile. — Abbi Glines

Why?" My high, strained voice made me sound like a child. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Why wait until now to talk?" Apparently, my curiosity had won. He quietly studied me for a moment then opened his arms. I didn't hesitate, but stepped right into them. I needed his comfort. He tucked me against his chest and gave me his explanation in a simple, heart-melting way. "If I'd spoken, even just one word, I would have never been able to hold back what I feel for you. You would have run." I remembered the day he'd plopped down on the towel next to Rachel. Had he arrived any other way, I would have tried to kick him out. If that wouldn't have worked, I would have...run. Even then, he'd known me. I hadn't been ready for any monumental life changes then and wasn't sure if I was now. I — Melissa Haag

It was ugly and awful that I said it. That I could say it. I wish I hadn't. Oh Jesus, Roarke, I wish I hadn't said it."
"We've both said things at one time or another we wish we hadn't. We can put that aside." He tossed the towel on a bench. "As to the rest ... "
"I was wrong."
His brows shot up. "Either Christmas has come early, or this should be made another national holiday."
"I know when I've been an idiot. When I've been stupid enough I wish I could kick my own ass."
"You can always leave that one to me. — J.D. Robb

A life saved is a statistic; a person hurt is an anecdote. Statistics are invisible; anecdotes are salient. — Nassim Nicholas Taleb

She pushed the bathroom door open to discover Magnus lurking on the other side, clutching a towel in one hand and his glittery hair in the other. He must have slept on it, she thought, because one side of the glittered spikes looked dented in. "Why does it take girls so long to shower?" he demanded. "Mortal girls, Shadowhunters, female warlocks, you're all the same. I'm not getting any younger waiting out here."
Clary stepped aside to let him pass. "How old are you, anyway?" she asked curiously.
Magnus winked at her. "I was alive when the Dead Sea was just a lake that was feeling a little poorly."
Clary rolled her eyes.
Magnus made a shooing moving. "Now move your petite behind. I need to get in there; my hair is a wreck. — Cassandra Clare

I was afraid of other people's houses. After school sometimes a friend might talk me into going to his house or apartment to do our homework together. It was a shock, the way people lived, other people, those who weren't me. I didn't know how to respond, the clinging intimacy of it, kitchen slop, pan handles jutting from the sink. Did I want to be curious, amused, indifferent, superior? Just walking past a bathroom, a woman's stocking draped over the towel rack, pill bottles on the windowsill, some open, some capsized, a child's slipper in the bathtub. It made me want to run and hide, partly from my own fastidiousness. The bedrooms with unmade beds, somebody's socks on the floor, the old woman in nightclothes, barefoot, an entire life gathered up in a chair by the bed, hunched frame and muttering face. Who are these people, minute to minute and year after year? It made me want to go home and stay there. — Don DeLillo

In the privacy of my room, armed with a mirror, shaving cream, razor, and bowl of water, I sat on my floor with a towel propped under my bare ass. Leaning back against my bed with my legs wide open as if I were about to give birth, I shaved everything off. My lady parts looked like a barren desert after a massive forest fire. I saw parts of myself that had long vanished beneath pubescent growth.
Suddenly, I felt sexy. There was something about going bare that made me feel sensual and touchable. But that was short lived. I was ill prepared for my skin's reaction to the change. I completely broke out. My pussy flushed as razor bumps shot across my flesh as if I'd had an allergic reaction to my underwear. It took weeks of applying antibiotic ointment to calm my skin. — Maggie Young

With her back to him, she maneuvered the towel, endeavoring to dress without revealing anything.
"Though I could watch this all night, you should no' bother with it. I've seen every inch of you by now."
She glanced over her shoulder, not knowing if she was pleased or disappointed that he'd slung on his jeans. "How's that?"
"I'm tall enough that when I was behind you, I could see straight over you. And my eyesight's strong enough to easily see through the water."
She wasn't modest, and this hiding her body like a blushing virgin wasn't her front anyway. "In that case . . ." she said, dropping the towel.
He hissed in a breath. As she set about dressing as usual, he grated, "Not a bashful one, then?"
Bashful? She and her friends made Girls Gone Wild look like a quilting circle. "Just being charitable to aging werewolves. — Kresley Cole

I'm holding a super-expandable energy-powered towel. I've made friends with space hamsters. I think we've stretched believability rather far, don't you? — Michael S. Atkinson

The house was immaculate, as always, not a stray hair anywhere, not a flake of dandruff or a crumpled towel. Even the roses on the dining-room table held their breath. A kind of airless cleanliness that always made me want to sneeze. — Sandra Cisneros

And I lie so composedly, Now in my bed (Knowing her love) That you fancy me dead - And I rest so contentedly, Now in my bed, (With her love at my breast) That you fancy me dead - That you shudder to look at me. Thinking me dead. But my heart it is brighter Than all of the many Stars in the sky, For it sparkles with Annie - It glows with the light Of the love of my Annie - With the thought of the light Of the eyes of my Annie. — Edgar Allan Poe

I missed the sound of her shuffling her homework while I listened to music on her bed.
I missed the cold of her feet against my legs when she climbed into bed.
I missed the shape of her shadow where it fell across the page of my book.
I missed the smell of her hair and the sound of her breath and my Rilke on her nightstand and her wet towel thrown over the back of her desk chair.
It felt like I should be sated after having a whole day with her, but it just made me miss her more. — Maggie Stiefvater

the "bystander effect": the more people around to provide help, the less likely one is to receive help. Dad hypothesized that this didn't apply to black people, a loving race whose very survival has been dependent on helping one another in times of need. So he made me stand on the busiest intersection in the neighborhood, dollar bills bursting from my pockets, the latest and shiniest electronic gadgetry jammed into my ear canals, a hip-hop heavy gold chain hanging from my neck, and, inexplicably, a set of custom-made carpeted Honda Civic floor mats draped over my forearm like a waiter's towel, and as tears streamed from my eyes, my own father mugged me. He — Paul Beatty

It is regrettable that people think about our monetary system, and of our economic structure, only in times of depression. — Henry Ford