Quotes & Sayings About White T Shirt

What I wanted was for him to want me, for him to touch me. He held my hand sometimes. Once I fell asleep next to him on the sofa, my cheek resting against his white T-shirt, and he put his arm around me. I wanted more than that--I wanted for him to kiss me. I wanted his want. — Sarai Walker

To her, Do yu know the name of dis place where we is at? But the third girl did not know either. She just stood there, and she was wearing a blue T-shirt and blue denim jeans and white Dunlop Green Flash trainers, and she just looked down at her own see-through bag, and her bag was full of letters and documents. There was so — Chris Cleave

It was a thick black leather, stopping at the waist, and definitely not his style. It looked ridiculous with the white tee shirt. "Come on, Tommy. I can't wear this. I look like something from West Side Story." Tommy — Darien Cox

Anormal day looks like, you know, shower, put on the same jeans, the same tattered Gucci loafers I got at the thrift store, white socks, and my t-shirt and my very beat-up Helmut Lang blazer. I'm in the exact same outfit every day. — Natasha Lyonne

Well, don't you look lovely," his voice dripped behind me, his breath tickling my ear as his words trickled in my brain.
Turning slowly, I saw him in his usual attire, a white t-shirt and jeans, but he looked incredible. His dark hair appeared darker in the dimmed lighting, his eyes shone with eagerness.
"You're here," I said dumbly. Like he didn't know he was here. I was such an idiot sometimes.
"I am," he said, a sexy smirk showing on one side of his mouth. "Wanna dance?" he asked, his leg shaking nervously, his eyes desperately searching mine for an answer.
I nodded, unable to speak. We'd kised, but only a couple of times. He grabbed me, pulling me to a spot close to where we stood. Warm fingers of one hand circled around my waist, while the others held my had. He pulled me close, every inch of our bodies touching. His eyes never left mine as we swayed and spun. I was lost in all that was Cade Kelling. — Felicia Tatum

At home, a T-shirt and something loose like harem pants would do. If I'm stepping out, a pair of blue jeans and a white tee are just fine. — Genelia D'Souza

As I stood, I took in a last breath of spring-scented air, listened to the birdsong, and then saw a member of wildlife the conservationists hadn't planned on reviving in this place. A perv in a white shirt and polyester pants. A standard hide-in-the-bushes-and-whack-it perv. Fat and balding, it was as appealing as watching a giant marshmallow go at it. — Rob Thurman

shirt. See?" she said, gesturing at a big brown splotch on her white blouse - a splotch that was now dripping down onto her jeans. "I'm sorry. I didn't even notice. — Jenn Hype

In terms of having a business, I wanted to let it go beyond what my personal taste is. Basically, I'm in a kilt and a white shirt every day. So, you know, I don't have a lot of scope, and I'm really picky about what I wear. — Marc Jacobs

My stomach quivered as I watched him walk to the side of the bed. His dark charcoal gray sweater emphasized his broad shoulders; a white t-shirt was slightly visible at the V-neck. — Melissa A. Hanson

The other two guys sat down. "I'm Gavin Strick," the kid in the Anthrax T-shirt said. "This here's Edward Vaugh, but everyone calls him U.V."
"As in sunlight," U.V. said with a white-toothed grin. "'Cause I get so much of it. — John Whitman

He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the good place, and a heart-shaped leaf lay trapped in the hollow if his throat as though it were planned, though of course it was so perfect it couldn't have been planned. — Elizabeth Berg

Aren't you going to look at it, Verity?" asked Miss Deane. Slowly, I unwrapped it. I saw a small, slim girl with serious eyes and a little pointed face, wearing her second-best dress and posed stiffly beside an artificial rosebush. Standing behind her, rising out of a sort of mist, was a fair-haired young man in a white shirt. There was no doubt as to who it was. It was my half-brother Alexander, and he was smiling. — Susan Green

He wore a threadbare white T-shirt that should've been as noteworthy as a bowl of oatmeal. Instead, it clung to his chest like it had aspirations of taking over for his skin. Hell, she'd have the same life goal. — Christine Bell

When I take my hand out of this blanket," he thought, "my nail will be grown back, my hands will be clean. My body will be clean. I'll have on clean shorts, clean undershirt, a white shirt. A blue polka-dot tie. A gray suit with a stripe, and I'll be home, and I'll bolt the door. I'll put some coffee on the stove, some records on the phonograph, and I'll bolt the door. I'll read my books and I'll drink coffee and I'll listen to music, and I'll bolt the door. I'll open the window, I'll let in a nice, quiet girl
not Frances, not anyone I've ever known
and I'll bolt the door. I'll ask her to read some Emily Dickinson to me
that one about being chartless
and I'll ask her to read some William Blake to me
that one about the little lamb that made thee
and I'll bolt the door. She'll have an American voice, and she won't ask me if I have any chewing gum or bonbons, and I'll bolt the door. — J.D. Salinger

For me there's nothing better than putting the white shirt on for England and playing for England. I'd get worried if it wasn't like that. — Michael Owen

Torn clothing littered the ground, more hung from bushes. Nick held up half a pair of white panties and grinned at me.
"Wild dogs? Or just Clayton?"
"Oh God," I muttered under my breath.
I walked over to snatch the underwear from him, but he held it over his head, grinning like a schoolboy.
"I see Paris, I see France, I see Elena's underpants," he chanted.
"Everyone's already seen much more than that," Jeremy said. "I think we can safely resume the search."
Peter plucked Clay's shirt from a low-hanging branch and held it up, peering through a hole in the middle. "You guys can really do some damage. Where's the hidden video when you need it?"
"So this
uh
wasn't done by wild dogs?" one of the searchers said.
Peter grinned and tossed the shirt to the ground. "Nope. Just wild hormones. — Kelley Armstrong

He strolled past Sin and brought his duffel bag with him into the bathroom. A few minutes passed before he reemerged in a dark green t-shirt with a picture of a pinwheel on it and white letters beneath that said simply, 'Blow me.' A pair of worn denim shorts hung low on his hips. Wide black leather bands hid his wrists and a pair of sunglasses on top of his head held his hair away from his now dark blue eyes in a messy tangle.
Sin was no longer making any attempts to mess with the door. His eyes followed Boyd the entire time after he appeared from the bathroom and he was doing a very poor job of concealing that fact. — Ais

A kiss, then Brady said, "Hey, sweetheart."

As he pulled away, I turned, grinning ear to ear. "Hey, Brady - "

I halted when I saw his shirt, mostly because I was laughing too hard to continue. My face went hot, from 98.6 to 200 degrees in a second flat. It wasn't the only part of my anatomy to react, either.

The shirt was white and clinging, hot as hell on him, of course. But stenciled in spray paint across the chest in the usual blocky lettering were the words FUCK ME, ETIENNE.

"Tried to convince the band to change our name, but they didn't go for it. I settled for the shirt. — Katey Hawthorne

Josey?" She heard her mother's voice in the hall, then the thud of her cane as she came closer. "Please don't tell her I'm here," the woman in the closet said, with a strange sort of desperation. Despite the cold outside, she was wearing a cropped white shirt and tight dark blue jeans that sat low, revealing a tattoo of a broken heart on her hip. Her hair was bleached white-blond with about an inch of silver-sprinkled dark roots showing. Her mascara had run and there were black streaks on her cheeks. She looked drip-dried, like she'd been walking in the rain, though there hadn't ... — Sarah Addison Allen

I came to Savannah to see where it all began ... where I began. But right now, I swear to God I flew to the other side of the pond just to see Theo in a dirty white T-shirt and faded blue jeans with holes in the knees, a red bandana wrapped around his head, and the most vulnerable look in his blue eyes. — Jewel E. Ann

Ranger was the second biggest complication in my life, and now that Morelli was out of the picture, I supposed Ranger was elevated to numero uno. He's close to six foot, one way or the other, is Latino, with medium brown skin and dark brown hair cut short. His teeth are white and even, and he has a killer smile that is seen only on special occasions. He dresses in black, and today he was wearing a black T-shirt and black cargo pants. — Janet Evanovich

Lend sat up,craning his neck to see down my shirt,which I hurriedly pushed back into place. "Last time I checked, you couldn't see souls."
He shrugged,an exaggerated look of innocence on his face. "Still,it wouldn't hurt for me to try,would it?"
"You have got to be the most sefless boyfriend alive."
"Like I said,anything worthwhile is worth making sacrifices for."
"Speaking of which,weren't you going to give me a tongue demonstration? — Kiersten White

He wasn't like those handsome men you see on the fashion billboards. He was handsome in a rugged way like a wood cutter with an unkept beard or a man who just finished fixing the engine of his car, wiping his oily hands over his white flannel shirt. Like a man who knows that he has starry eyes that can bring stars closer but doesn't even bother to look. — Malak El Halabi

Basically, I'm in a kilt and a white shirt every day. So, you know, I don't have a lot of scope, and I'm really picky about what I wear. Even if it's weird, it's very particular to me. And you can't make a business out of what I would wear. We'd be out of business. — Marc Jacobs

His white admiral's jacket gleamed with medals, nut Loki wasn't exactly wearing it regulation-style. It was open over a black T-shirt featuring Jack Nicholson's face from The Shinnig. The caption read: HEEEERE'S LOKI! — Rick Riordan

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

Gabby couldn't believe what he had just said. Her mouth gaped open and a flirty smile came over her. She slowly peeled her half wet white t-shirt over her head and then slowly shimmied out of her shorts. What had gotten into her? She had never acted like this before, but she suddenly felt playful, fun and daring. If he wanted to play, so could she. — J.B. McGee

I was dressed in khaki shorts, a surfing T-shirt and white Vans. Coupled with my amazing tan and disarming smile, I was surprised I wasn't more often confused with Jimmy Buffet. If Jimmy Buffet stood six foot four and weighed two hundred and twenty. "You — J.R. Rain

A too tight white shirt," she continued as though he hadn't interrupted, "strained across a great chest, really great biceps, and his head under the hood of the car, a little sweaty, a little messy, a lot handy."

"You sound like a pimp. — Lauren Layne

Gus, dressed in the finest button-down shirt he could find in his house (plain white - Pastor Tommy had worn it when he was trying to infiltrate a Young Republicans meeting, only to have been found out, as he was neither young nor a Republican). He also found a bright pink tie to be his splash of color. He wore his slacks from work and a pair of loafers that he hoped would be considered sensible. "I look like a gay Mormon missionary," he lamented in the mirror. "Pardon me, have you heard the word of the Lord? It's fabulous!" He scowled at his reflection. — T.J. Klune

I follow his stare at the speckles of stars. Suddenly I wonder, "Aren't you guys supposed to, like, sparkle or something?" And immediately wish I hadn't. Frederik stands up so quickly that he doesn't disturb the sand. He grabs the front of my shirt and growls--his eyes are black as the night sky along the horizon, and red veins fray against the white of his eyes. His sharp canines are exposed. "I.Don't.Sparkle." He lets go of me and becomes regular bored Frederik again, no fangs, no bloodshot eyes. Just a dude sitting on the beach at night. — Zoraida Cordova

A couple of minutes later I was surprised when the figure that came back was ... not him. It was Arianna, holding something bulky draped over her arm.
She opened my door, and I got out. "Where's Lend? I'm supposed to wait for him."
"Nope." She smiled bigger than I'd ever seen her smile before, and suddenly I was a touch nervous. What if she was working with Nona and the faeries? "You were waiting for me. Now, strip."
"I - What?"
"You heard me. Strip. Take off your coat, shirt, and pants. You can leave your bra, for all the good it does you."
I noticed then that the bulky thing over her arm was a garment bag. Aha! "Ar, listen, I don't feel that way about you. You're not my type."
"Oh, shut up, take your clothes off, and close your eyes."
"Again, not something I was hoping to hear from you tonight."
Her smile was replaced by an annoyed scowl. "DO IT NOW. — Kiersten White

Come to the jacaranda tree at seven o'clock and you will hear something to your advantage. Destroy this note.'
No signature, no clue to the identity. Just what sort of heroine do you think I am? Phryne asked the air. Only a Gothic novel protagonist would receive that and say, 'Goodness, let me just slip into a low-cut white nightie and put on the highest heeled shoes I can find,' and, pausing only to burn the note, slip out of the hotel by a back exit and go forth to meet her doom in the den of the monster - to be rescued in the nick of time by the strong-jawed hero (he of the Byronic profile and the muscles rippling beneath the torn shirt). 'Oh, my dear,' Phryne spoke aloud as if to the letter-writer. 'You don't know a lot about me, do you? — Kerry Greenwood

two Florida Highway Patrol cars and a third, black car pulled up in front of the house, and several white men emerged, among them the deputies Campbell and Yates. "Where is the guy that was with you last night?" Yates asked Shepherd, and what began with that question led to the beatings he and Irvin endured on the deserted clay road outside of Groveland. "They must have beat us about a half hour," Shepherd told the lawyers, who were at once riveted and appalled by his testimony. After the beating, he and Irvin were shoved back into the patrol car. Irvin's shirt was drenched in blood, and when he reached his hand up to his head he felt "a big chunk knocked out of it." A patrolman told them to scoot up to the edge of the seat so their blood wouldn't drip onto the upholstery. — Gilbert King

The print was an old one made from a negative taken in the 1960's of her parents in Sydney Mines, dancing with thrilled, excited expressions on their faces, in front of a classic car that had been a wedding gift at the time. Her mother's hair, red back then, was held back by a blue handkerchief, and she was dressed in a billowing skirt and white blouse. Her father's denim jeans and faded t-shirt were streaked with coal dust as he held her hands and spun her around in the front yard of their old clapboard house, yellow grass under their feet and a cobalt-blue sky with white clouds drifting above. Mandy could almost feel the late summer breeze as she gazed deeply into the print, watching the flamboyant colors come to life. She hung it up to dry on two wooden clothespins hanging from a string above her. — Rebecca McNutt

Don't you ever touch her again," Bodee says. There must be muscles in his arms where before I thought there was only T-shirt. But it's not those muscles that pin Hayden against the ground: it's the white-hot fury that's as visible as Hayden's grimace. — Courtney C. Stevens

Stuffed myself into a white T-shirt, topped with a plaid flannel shirt and a pair of Levi's with a small hole in the crotch which I convinced myself no one could see. — Janet Evanovich

He was wearing a plain white oxford unbuttoned over a T-shirt, but something about the way they fit made him look put together, like an Abercrombie model (well, like an Abercrombie model who had remembered to put on a shirt that morning). — Claire LaZebnik

Holder walks in dressed in a casual white t-shirt and dark denim jeans, his hair freshly washed since our run this morning. As soon as I see him, the stomach virus/hot flashes/butterflies return. — Colleen Hoover

Denim miniskirt. Tight white T-shirt. Scooped neck. Extraordinarily olive skin. Legs that make you care about legs. Perfectly coiffed curly brown hair. A laminated button reading ME FOR PROM QUEEN. Lacey Pemberton. Walking toward us. — John Green

On the morning in question, she wore white shorts and a pink T-shirt that featured a green dragon breathing a fire of orange glitter. It is difficult to explain how awesome I found this T-shirt at the time. — John Green

He went with olive green, because it almost matched his borrowed coat, which was tan. He chose pants with flannel lining, a T-shirt a flannel shirt, and a sweater made of thick cotton. He added white underwear and a pair of black gloves and a khaki watch cap. Total damage was a hundred and thirty bucks. The store owner took a hundred and twenty cash. Four days wear, probably, at the rate of thirty dollars a day. Which added up to more than ten grand a year, just for clothes. Insane, some would say. But Reacher liked the deal. He knew that most folks spent much less than ten grand a year on clothes. They had a small number of good items that they kept in closets and laundered in basements. But the closets and basements were surrounded by houses, and houses cost a whole lot more than ten grand a year, to buy or rent, and to maintain and repair and insure.
So who was really nuts ? — Lee Child

Okay, maybe it wasn't some reason. He was handsome. Like, wow, that's a handsome guy, and then you nudge your friend and get her to take a look as well. That kind of handsome. Though I couldn't see him straight on, he had a nice, strong face, broad nose with a bump on the bridge, and just the right amount of stubble on his cheeks and jaw. His deep-set eyes looked rich brown, his longish, thick hair a shade darker than that and his brows even more so. I couldn't tell how tall he was, he was at least a few inches taller than I was, but his body was fit and lean. His stomach looked washboard flat under his white dress shirt and his forearms that peeked out from the rolled up sleeves were muscular, the same color as wet sand, a beach in the afternoon light. — Karina Halle

Hey. Do you want a cracker?" a velvet voice asked me.
I didn't look up, I wasn't sure if he was even talking to me. Why would an attractive senior be talking to me?
"Hey, I'm talking to you," he said, a chuckle in his voice.
I slowly lifted my head peering at him from under my long lashes. His dark brown hair swept across his forehead, and his deep blue eyes made me gasp. He wore the ultimate laid back style, a white t-shirt and jeans. All he needed was a black leather jacket, and he would be the bad boy from my book. The smile on his face was breathtaking and I found myself unable to speak. — Felicia Tatum

I went to bed wearing my oldest, most faded flannel shirt, the bra that had looked all right in the catalog but was obviously an escapee from a downmarket nursing home when it arrived, white cotton panties that had had pansies on them about seven hundred washings ago and were now a kind of mottled gray, and the jeans I usually wore for housecleaning or raking Yolande's garden because they were too shabby for work even if I never came out of the bakery. Food inspector arrest-on-sight jeans. Oh, and fuzzy green plaid socks. It was a cool night for summer. Relatively. I lay down on top of the bedspread. And slept through till the alarm at three-forty-five. He hadn't come. T — Robin McKinley

But as I stood there dressed in a cute black pants suit and white button-up shirt and heels, I felt completely out of place. Not necessarily because of the clothes, but ... I just don't belong there. I can't put my finger on it, but that Monday and the rest of that week when I woke up, got dressed and walked into that store, something was itching the back part of my consciousness. I couldn't hear the actual words, but it felt like: This is your life, Camryn Bennett. This is your life. — J.A. Redmerski

Jonathan Green had a firm handshake, clear eyes, and a jawline not dissimilar to Dudley Do-Right's. He was in his early sixties, with graying hair, a beach-club tan, and a voice that was rich and comforting. A minister's voice. He wasn't a handsome man, but there was a sincerity in his eyes that put you at ease. Jonathan Green was reputed to be one of the top five criminal defense attorneys in America, with a success rate in high-profile criminal defense cases of one hundred percent. Like Elliot Truly, Jonathan Green was wearing an impeccably tailored blue Armani suit. So were the lesser attorneys. Maybe they got a bulk discount. I was wearing impeccably tailored black Gap jeans, a linen aloha shirt, and white Reebok sneakers. Green said, Did Elliot explain why we wanted to see you? — Robert Crais

Sup, Andrews?" he says. 'Sup? He's a white boy in a polo shirt. 'Sup is he's a poser. I don't respond. — Chelsea Fine

The World Has Need Of You"

everything here
seems to need us
- Rainer Maria Rilke

I can hardly imagine it
as I walk to the lighthouse, feeling the ancient
prayer of my arms swinging
in counterpoint to my feet.
Here I am, suspended
between the sidewalk and twilight,
the sky dimming so fast it seems alive.
What if you felt the invisible
tug between you and everything?
A boy on a bicycle rides by,
his white shirt open, flaring
behind him like wings.
It's a hard time to be human. We know too much
and too little. Does the breeze need us?
The cliffs? The gulls?
If you've managed to do one good thing,
the ocean doesn't care.
But when Newton's apple fell toward the earth,
the earth, ever so slightly, fell
toward the apple. — Ellen Bass

I look at Woody Allen's prolific career of 30 or 40 films, and I'm watching the clock. I'd love to work at a clip of a film a year. We don't get the benefit of the doubt, particularly black women. We're presumed incompetent, whereas a white male is assumed competent until proven otherwise. They just think the guy in the ball hat and the T-shirt over the thermal has got it, whether he's got it or not. For buzzy first films by a white male, the trajectory is a 90-degree angle. For us, it's a 30-degree angle. — Dee Rees

He was young, no older than fifteen, pale and dark-haired, wearing jeans and a soft white T-shirt that had SHAKESPEARE HATES YOUR EMO POEMS written across the chest. — Marjorie M. Liu

I can't say I remember this bit in the book,' she commented when he was finished and she was sweeping an applicator along his collarbone and pressing it lightly into the hollow beneath.
'They call it "artistic licence". '
'Not just the producers trying to shoe-horn in a scene involving you in a wet shirt?'
'Why would they want that?' There was a soft gleam of white teeth as his lips parted in a smile. — Emma Jackson

How?" I had seen it with my own eyes, but I still didn't believe it. Then something struck me. "Take off your shirt!"
"I'm not that kind of guy!" He frowned thoughtfully. "On second thought, why not?"
I blushed angrily and looked at Raquel. "What is he? I don't see anything!"
"He's not 'anything'.Just a talented boy."
"Then how did he make a door? How did he get through the Paths?"
"Wait,so am I allowed to put my shirt back on? Or did you want me to remove my pants,too?"
Lend and I joined forces in a dark glare. "Only if you want me to vomit," I snapped. — Kiersten White

Getting away from a white or light colored tuxedo shirt is always a little dangerous. Certain staples shouldn't be mixed with. Light pink or blue is not bad, but again, you're just breaking from a classic. — Paul Feig

Paris came down the stairs looking incredible. He'd gone with the simple classic look of the tight white T-shirt,
the low-slung jeans that showed off a glimpse of his flat belly, and a black leather jacket. His hair was perfectly mussed, a
calculated look that seemed natural and sexy. At the bottom of the staircase, he turned around slowly, holding his arms out
to his sides. "Well, how do I look?"

Damn. "Like I want to rip your clothes off right this second. You're gonna kill that kid. He's going to explode, and they're going
to have to scrape his remains off the wall."

"Yeesh, I was with you until you got descriptive."

"Can't help it. You make me poetic."

"I thought I made you horny."

"Same damn thing. — Andrea Speed

Ryan couldn't believe his eyes. Gran wearing leather chaps in a Harley shop, talking about her ass. It was a living nightmare.
"What am I doing here?" he asked Gran. Before he could read her the riot act on safety, Liz stepped in front of him. Her pink shirt was buttoned all the way to the top and tucked into ironed white pants. Her hair was straight and perfect. He had the strangest urge to muss her up. — Kylie Gilmore

Tod crossed his arms over his snug white T-shirt, silently giving me the floor. Fortunately, I was prepared.
"Sabine ambushed me in the hall this morning and gave me a lecture on sex."
Tod's brow's rose halfway to his hairline.
"I hope you took notes ... — Rachel Vincent

Despite the cold outside, she was wearing a cropped white shirt and tight dark blue jeans that sat low, revealing a tattoo of a broken heart on her hip. Her hair was bleached white-blond with about an inch of silver-sprinkled dark roots showing. Her mascara had run and there were black streaks on her cheeks. She looked drip-dried, like she'd been walking in the rain, though there hadn't been rain for days. She smelled like cigarette smoke and river water. — Sarah Addison Allen

Jobs described Mike Markkula's maxim that a good company must "impute"- it must convey its values and importance in everything it does, from packaging to marketing. Johnson loved it. It definitely applied to a company's stores. " The store will become the most powerful physical expression of the brand," he predicted. He said that when he was young he had gone to the wood-paneled, art-filled mansion-like store that Ralph Lauren had created at Seventy-second and Madison in Manhattan. " Whenever I buy a polo shirt, I think of that mansion, which was a physical expression of Ralph's ideals," Johnson said. " Mickey Drexler did that with the Gap. You couldn't think of a Gap product without thinking of the Great Gap store with the clean space and wood floors and white walls and folded merchandise. — Walter Isaacson

I have found people on both sides of the aisle, white and black, that'll give you the shirt off their back. And I've also found people that won't give you a piece of bread if you're starving to death. — Al Green

My wildest tipping point moment came when I was introduced to Clint Eastwood. He was sitting there, typical Clint Eastwood, wearing a white T-shirt and jeans, holding a Budweiser. He looks at me and says, "I watch your show from time to time." I just stopped. I was like, "I can't even think about that. I'm not even sure if I'm happy about that." — Chris Harrison

Thomas was still outside, so I knocked once and opened the door without waiting for a response. Loki was in the middle of changing clothes as I came in. He'd already traded his worn slacks for a pair of pajama pants, and he was holding a white T-shirt, preparing to put it on.
He had his back to me, and it was even worse than I'd thought.
"Oh, my god, Loki," I gasped.
"I didn't know you were coming." He turned around to face me, smirking. "Shall I leave the shirt off, then?"
"No, put the shirt on," I said, and I closed the door behind me so nobody could see or overhear us talking.
"You're no fun." He wrinkled his nose and pulled the shirt over his head.
"Your back is horrific."
"And I was just going to tell you how beautiful you look today, but I'm not going to bother now if you're going to talk that way." Loki sat back down on his bed, more lying than sitting. — Amanda Hocking

The only people discussing "race" with any insight and courage are loud middle-aged white men who romanticize the Kennedys and Motown, well-read open-minded white kids like the tie-dyed familiar sitting next to me in the Free Tibet and Boba Fett T-shirt, a few freelance journalists in Detroit, and the American hikikomori who sit in their basements pounding away at their keyboards composing measured and well-thought-out responses to the endless torrent of racist online commentary. — Paul Beatty

I grew up in the 90s in the time of grunge when if you didn't go on stage in jeans and a T shirt you weren't 'real.' That seemed ridiculous to me. — Jack White

Heaven is boring. Didn't you see, in that picture book back when we used to go to school? It's just plain and white and there is not even any color and it's too orderly. Like there will be crazy prefects telling you all the time: Do thus, don't do that, where are your shoes, tuck in your shirt, shhh, God doesn't like it and will punish you, keep your voice low you'll wake the angels, go and wash, you are dirty, Bastard says.
Me, when I die I want to go where there's lots of food and music and a party that never ends and we're singing that Jobho song, Godknows says. — NoViolet Bulawayo

A Mexican guy named Sam pushes Gary Frankel next to Isabel. "This guy can break your arm with one snap, asshole. Get out of my sight before I sic him on you," Sam says.
Gary, who's wearing a coral shirt and white pants, growls to look tough. It doesn't work. — Simone Elkeles

Peace is not just a colored ribbon. It's more than a wristband or a t-shirt. It's not just a donation or a 5 K race. It's not just a folk song, or a white dove. And peace is certainly more than a celebrity endorsement. Peace is a fulltime job. It's protecting civilians, overseeing elections, and disarming ex-combatants. The UN has over 100,000 Peacekeepers on the ground, in places others can't or won't go, doing things others can't or won't do. Peace, like war, must be waged. — George Clooney

The lawyer was a short, ugly, little man. He stood about three feet taller than his desk's two foot eight inch frame and he had dark eyes. Lois couldn't tell if they were black or an extremely dark brown. His hair was dirty blonde and very messy. He looked as if he had just crawled out of bed. His white button up shirt was tucked in on only one side and the other side hung out freely. He wore a pair of tan khakis and a pair of black loafers. His skin almost matched the khakis which was extremely creepy and Lois kept thinking the man wasn't wearing pants. — Rebecca McNutt

Glimpse of him. Once things got hot, I tended pretty much to my own knittin. I glanced around just once and saw him upstreet beyond them Swedes under the Bijou's marquee, " Mr. Keene said. "He wasn't wearing a clown suit or nothing like that. He was dressed in a pair of farmer's biballs and a cotton shirt underneath. But his face was covered with that white greasepaint they use, and he had a big red clown smile painted on. Also had these tufts of fake hair, you know. Orange. Sorta comical. — Stephen King

I took a shower and spent some time on my hair, doing the blow-drying thing, adding some gel and some spray. When I was done I looked like Cher on a bad day. Still, Cher on a bad day wasn't all that bad. I was down to my last clean pair of spandex shorts. I tugged on a matching sports bra that doubled as a halter top and slid a big, loose, purple T-shirt with a large, droopy neck over my head. I laced up my hightop Reeboks, crunched down my white socks, and felt pretty cool. — Janet Evanovich

he ran his palms up the warmth of her bare back, beneath the white T-shirt, that the people in his life weren't beads strung on a wire of sequence, but clustered like quanta, so that he knew her as well as he'd known Rudy, or Allison, or Conroy, as well as he knew the girl who was Mitchell's daughter. "Hey," she whispered, working her mouth free, "you come upstairs now. — William Gibson

I'll tell them," she said. "I'll tell them it was my fault."
He looked at her, gold eyes incredulous. "You can't lie to them."
"I'm not. I brought you back," she said. "You were dead, and I brought you back. I upset the balance, not you. I opened the door for Lilith and her stupid ritual. I could have asked for anything, and I asked for you." She tightened her grip on his shirt, her fingers white with cold and pressure. "And I would do it again. I love you, Jace Wayland - Herondale - Lightwood - whatever you want to call yourself. I don't care. I love you and I wil always love you, and pretending it could be any other way is just a waste of time. — Cassandra Clare

Growing up in Oakland, we did things like white t-shirt, blue jeans and Nikes. That was my get down, how I was going to rock. And if you look at me right now, I'm pretty much black tee, blue jeans and some sneakers. — Marshawn Lynch

'Princess' is a good word, as is 'girlish', 'pixie-like' and all these other things. I personally find it a bit boring, it's all been done before. The amount of times you read reviews of bands and it's an all-girl four-piece, and they talk about what the women are wearing ... you'll never read a review that's like: "Male singer Thom Yorke, who was dressed in a white t-shirt and jeans ... " You would never read that about a man. — Lauren Mayberry

No. When I was a girl, I wanted to be a pirate."
That brought up an all-too-pleasant image - Miss Marshall, the rich, dark red of her hair unbound and flying defiantly in the wind aboard a ship's deck. She'd wear a loose white shirt and pantaloons. He would definitely surrender.
"I am less shocked than you might imagine," Edward heard himself say. "Entirely unshocked."
She smiled in pleasure.
"A bloodthirsty cutthroat profession? Good thing you gave that up. It would never have suited you."
Her expression of pleasure dimmed.
"You'd have succeeded too easily," Edward continued, "and now you'd be sitting, bored as sin, atop a heap of gold too large to spend in one lifetime. Still, though, wouldn't it solve ever so many problems if you married a lord? James Delacey could never touch you again if you did. — Courtney Milan

Truax had another marshmallow poised to go into his open mouth, but he froze after hearing Dale's outburst. "I don't think I like your attitude, Dale. Everyone is addicted to something. Drugs, power, sex. Might as well be to something wholesome, like these little sweet white puffs, made from 100% all natural unicorn poop." "That's not where marshmallows come from." Truax grabbed Dale by the shirt and pulled him against the cell bars. "Yes it is, damn you!" "Okay, okay! Marshmallows are unicorn poop! — Chris Genoa

Dani, Dani, Dani."
I flinch. I've never heard anyone say my name so gently. It creeps me all kinds of out.
He's towering over me, arms crossed over his chest, scarred forearms dark against the rolled-up sleeves of a crisp white shirt.
Heavy silver cuffs glint at both wrists. The light is smack behind his head, as usual.
"You didn't really think I'd let you get away with it," Ryodan says. — Karen Marie Moning

she came out - dancing around in a white shirt with nothing underneath, the rosy coins of her nipples visible under the thin fabric - asking for a wood saw and spackle, he'd been jumpy as a jackrabbit sniffing Easter candy. He could have looked in the bedroom when she left to sleep, to go to Brass and Bones, to go wherever sex-witch art-fairies go. She came back every day with packages from the Indian import store, bags from the pagan crystal shop, boxes that smelled like incense and old wood. But he didn't look because deep down he liked the mystery, that a woman had claimed a space in the house he'd designed, made it hers to reveal on her terms. — Kira A. Gold

Because Joe was standing at the front. He'd changed. White shorts. Green shirt that hid nothing. He was barefoot too. And his feet were sexy as all hell. "Uh, — T.J. Klune

I think a lot of people know me for just wearing cut-off denim shorts, an oversized white T-shirt with a pair of high-heels. I usually do wear basic stuff. Jeans and a white T is my go-to look. — Erin Wasson

He put on a short-sleeved white T-shirt and tried not to flex when he checked his reflection in the mirror. Is this what women felt like when they put on miniskirts? — Rainbow Rowell

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

Usually, Marilyn Norton loved the hot weather, but she was having a tough time with it, nine months pregnant, with her due date in two days. She was expecting her second child, another boy, and he was going to be a big one. She could hardly move in the heat, and her ankles and feet were so swollen that all she had been able to get her feet into were rubber flip-flops. She was wearing huge white shorts that were too tight on her now, and a white T-shirt of her husband's that outlined her belly. She had nothing left to wear that still fit, but the baby would arrive soon. She was just glad that she had made it to the first day of school with Billy. He had been nervous about his new school, and she wanted to be there with him. — Danielle Steel

I feel like my style's always been influenced by 'less is more.' The coolest styles are kind of simple and classic, like a white T-shirt and jeans. Maybe you have a cool belt and cool shoes, but everything else you keep simple. — Chris Evans

Plain white T-shirts do it for me every time. You can spend anything from £3 to £50 on a T-shirt, but I've bought some great ones from H&M, as well as shelling out on Duffer Of St George and a Polish label I discovered while filming 'Robin Hood' in Hungary called Scotch And Soda. — Jonas Armstrong

We were at a swap meet in Cochituate last year, and there was this Boy Scout troop with a sign that read, 'Help Boy Scouts, Blind Kids.' Toby saw it, and he grabbed my shirt collar and pulled me away. I asked what was wrong, and with this scared expression on his face, he said, That's not right. They need to be stopped.'
I cracked up. 'Oh, no,' I said.
'When I asked him why helping blind kids and Boy Scouts was bad, Toby's whole face went white. He said, 'Forget it. Let's go.' But I had to know what the hell he was talking about, so I made him walk back over with me. We looked at the sign together, and finally he mumbled, 'I didn't see the comma. — Bill Konigsberg

Slim is queer and though Nelson isn't supposed to mind that he does. He also minds that there are a couple of slick blacks making it at the party and that one little white girl with that grayish kind of sharp-chinned Polack face from the south side of Brewer took off her shirt while dancing even though she has no tits to speak of and now sits in the kitchen with still bare tits getting herself sick on Southern Comfort and Pepsi. At these parties someone is always in the bathroom being sick or giving themselves a hit or a snort and Nelson minds this too. He doesn't mind any of it very much, he's just tired of being young. There's so much wasted energy to it. — John Updike

I feel most bossy in jeans, a white t-shirt, a leather jacket and some heels. I just feel bossy that way. I also feel confident in a sick dress at a premiere. Like most women, as long as I'm comfortable in it, I feel confident. — Tika Sumpter

She opens the book. Each sheet has one or two antique photographs stuck with corner tabs. The images are neither black and white nor gray, but hold that brownish gold of time and exposure to air.

"This man is your great grandfather. Look at that face, Pedro. It is a mean mean face." He's standing in front of a wood pile, holding an axe. "I think he was only a teenager there, a long time before he met my mother. But look how handsome he was. And how mean."

It's funny the way she smiles when she talks about him. Saying he's mean has a perverse joy for her, as if she can stick her tongue out at him and his hands are tied so he can't slap her for doing it. She's right, though. There's no lingering smile, no potential for mirth in the burlap of his skin. I notice snow on the ground at his feet, but he's wearing a thin, unbuttoned shirt, showing no sign of cold. — Laurie Perez

It will be easier, my lord, if you will sit, as even your collar is above my eye level." "Very well." He dragged a stool to the center of the room and sat his lordly arse upon it. "And since you don't want to have stray hairs on that lovely white linen," Anna went on, "I would dispense with the shirt, were I you." "Always happy to dispense with clothing at the request of a woman." The earl whipped his shirt over his head. "Do you want your hair cut, my lord?" Anna tested the sharpness of the scissor blades against her thumb. "Or perhaps not?" "Cut," his lordship replied, giving her a slow perusal. "I gather from your vexed expression there is something for which I must apologize. I confess to a mood both distracted and resentful." "When somebody does you a decent turn," she said as she began to comb out his damp hair, "you do not respond with sarcasm and innuendo, my lord. — Grace Burrowes

They'll get it all from you sooner or later 'cause they own this f**kin' place. It's a big club and you ain't in it. You and I are not in the big club. By the way, it's the same big club they use to beat you over the head with all day long when they tell you what to believe. All day long beating you over the head with their media telling you what to believe, what to think and what to buy. The table is tilted, folks. The game is rigged and nobody seems to notice. Nobody seems to care. Good, honest, hard-working people: white collar, blue collar, it doesn't matter what color shirt you have on. — George Carlin

I sucked a huge breath of air into my collapsed lungs. Once I could breathe again, I examined Ren's back. His white shirt was dirty and torn, and his skin was scratched and bleeding in several places. I took a wet shirt from the bag to clean his scratches, while removing little pieces of gravel embedded in his skin.
When I was finished, I grabbed Ren around the waist in a fierce hug. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. I whispered against his chest quietly but firmly, "Thank you. But don't ever ... ever ... ever do that again!"
He laughed. "If I get results like this, I surely will do it again."
"You will not!"
Ren reluctantly let me go, and I began mumbling, complaining about tigers, men, and bugs. He seemed very pleased with himself for surviving a near-death experience. I could practically hear him chanting to himself: I overcame. I conquered. I'm a man, etc, etc. I smirked. men! No matter what century they're from, they're all the same. — Colleen Houck

Surely the Board knows what democracy is. It is the line that forms on the right. It is the don't in don't shove. It is the hole in the stuffed shirt through which the sawdust slowly trickles; it is the dent in the high hat. Democracy is the recurrent suspicion that more than half the people
are right more than half the time. It is the feeling of privacy in the voting booths,the feeling of communion in the libraries, the feeling of vitality everywhere. Democracy is a letter to the editor. Democracy is the score at the beginning of the ninth. It is an idea which hasn't been disproved yet, a song the words of which have not gone bad. It's the mustard on the hot dog and the cream in the rationed coffee. — E.B. White

Right," I scoffed, "Alpha Yam Ergo." Adrian nodded solemnly. "A very old and prestigious society." "I've never heard of them," said the girl who'd claimed the first shirt. "They don't let many people in," he said. In white paint, he wrote his fake fraternity's initials: AYE. "Isn't that what pirates say?" asked one of the girls. "Well, the Alpha Yams have nautical origins," he explained. To my horror he began painting a pirate skeleton riding a motorcycle. "Oh, no," I groaned. "Not the tattoo." "It's our logo," he said. — Richelle Mead

Wow," she whispered. "Gorgeous."
"Yeah," he said, looking at her.
She laughed. "That's cheesy."
He grinned. "You liked it."
"No, I didn't."
He peered at her over his dark sunglasses, letting his gaze slip past her face.
She followed his line of sight and realized that her nipples were pressing eagerly against the thin white cotton of her shirt. "That's because I'm cold," she said and crossed her arms over her chest.
He laughed. "It's seventy five degrees."
"Downright chilly," she said, nose in the air.
Grinning, he reeled her in, and with Thor (the dog) protesting between them, he kissed the living daylights out of her. — Jill Shalvis

Elijah's wearing white shorts and a bright green shirt and plaid sneakers. People who dress like they're in a perfume ad shouldn't be trusted, in my opinion. They're disingenuous with floral overtones. — Deb Caletti

He was getting undressed and it snapped something inside of him that had been drawing taut, ready to break for months.
"I'm hungry, Bruno," he said, in a soft voice, as he removed the shirt from his broad shoulders, revealing a perfect sight of smooth dark skin. "I can't wait for dinner," he continued, with a smile.
When he put his hands to the fastening of his trousers, Bruno let out a sigh and put the take out menus on the counter. He couldn't look at him, because he knew Lyon was trying to seduce him on purpose. He didn't want to talk or hear him out or spend time with him that didn't end with an orgasm.
"I can't do this anymore," Bruno confessed, quietly. — Elaine White

My fingers caught on something else as I withdrew them. It was his T-shirt, the white one with the holes in it. I filled my hands with the fabric and brought it up to my face.
I caught the barest, faintest scent of him, soap and sandalwood and smoke, and in that moment, I felt not loss but need. Noah was there for me when I had no one else. He believed me when no one else did. He could not be gone, I thought, but my throat began to hurt and my chest began to tighten and I curled up in bed, knees to chest, head to knees, waiting for tears that never came and sleep that did. — Michelle Hodkin

So what made you think he was a ghost?" Maggie interrupted.

"The next time I saw him it was five years later, and he hadn't aged at all. Then a few years passed, and I saw him again. He looked exactly the same, same blue jeans and white shirt, same everything right down to the 50s hair do with the duck butt in the back. Pardon the language, Miss Honeycutt." Gus gave a sheepish grin. "I just didn't know what else to call it.

"I'm well aware of what a duck's butt is Gus," Aunt Irene said primly.

"A duck's butt?" Shad hooted. Rising from his seat he squatted down and waddled around the table, shaking his skinny butt wildly. "That's what this move is called, Maggie, a duck's butt."

"Shadrach, sit down." Gus smiled to soften the reprimand.

Maggie tried not to laugh and ended up snorting instead. Aunt Irene looked at her sharply, and Maggie quickly changed the subject. — Amy Harmon