Big Red Quotes

#1. A big man stood looking out the window at the night. He had a close-cropped haircut, obviously military, and wore a camouflage uniform. Pink scalp showed through his light colored hair and his thick neck glowed red.

There's a stroke waiting to happen. Tara couldn't stop the irreverent thought. #Quote by D. L. Robinson Red Death

#2. You can see the next big trends in fashion on the red carpet and see what colors, silhouettes are hot right now. You might see Taylor Swift wearing Gucci, and most of us can't afford that Gucci dress, but you can look at the beading and be inspired by it for, say, your prom or a friend's wedding. #Quote by Giuliana Rancic

#3. On Valentine's Day, the Spirit Club plastered the school with red streamersand pink balloons and red and pink hearts. It looked like Clifford the Big Red Dog ate a flock of flamigoes and then barfed his guts up. #Quote by Carolyn Mackler

#4. Woe to you, my Princess, when I come. I will kiss you quite red and feed you till you are plump. And if you are forward, you shall see who is the stronger, a gentle little girl who doesn't eat enough, or a big wild man who has cocaine in his body. -- A love letter from Freud to his fiancée. #Quote by Sigmund Freud

#5. Sometimes all a breathing attack takes is reassurance. What Pete thought. And a shot of prednisone. And two huffs of the red inhaler, then the white one. And a big burly doctor who looked a little like Ernest Hemingway to place his hand on an arm and keep repeating, "Just a reaction to the altitude, maybe the mist tonight and woodsmoke combined. You'll be fine, fine. There now." And a Latvian in a bathrobe - Oh God! Pete noticed now that she had bare feet! She had not even stopped to put on shoes - a barefoot Latvian to intone, "So beautiful, you really look like an angel," and a one-armed hero who reeks of cigarettes and pot to keep saying happily, "Fuckin' A, look, look at that, breathing fine now, fuckin' A. #Quote by Peter Heller

#6. Oh," he said, knocking a red ball into
a hole. "It's you."
"You were expecting someone else?"
I asked. "Am I interrupting your social
calendar?" I made a big show of
glancing around the empty room. "I don't
want to keep you from the mob of fans
beating down your door. #Quote by Richelle Mead

#7. Let's get something clear up front. I'm not Harry Dresden. Harry's a wizard. A genuine, honest-to-goodness wizard. He's Gandalf on crack and an IV of Red Bull, with a big leather coat and a .44 revolver in his pocket. He'll spit in the eye of gods and demons alike if he thinks it needs to be done, and to hell with the consequences
and yet somehow my little brother manages to remain a decent human being. I'll be damned if I know how. But then, I'll be damned regardless. My name is Thomas Raith, and I'm a monster. #Quote by Jim Butcher

#8. The next day she'd examined her red satin sandals
and with a frown said, "I'm thinking about buying two
snakes."
His are you kidding me "Why?" had caused her to
shrug.
"I'd name them Leftie and Rightie and when they
were big enough, they'd become Mamma's boots. #Quote by Gena Showalter

#9. I must have made a noise, but the next thing I remember is being on my knees with my head low and a big, warm hand on the back of my neck. Adam's scent, rich and exotic, was all around me, giving me his strength to calm my queasy stomach. I don't think I lost consciousness completely, but it was a near thing.
When I lifted my head, the red wolf stuck his nose in my face and ran a long tongue over my cheek before Adam cuffed him lightly. I got to my feet with Adam's help, but stood on my own.
Adam reloaded the automatic when I handed him a fresh clip - though he grinned when I took it out of my bra. I think I was glad I couldn't hear well enough to decipher what he said. #Quote by Patricia Briggs

#10. You slutty, little whore." Her lips twisted cruelly. The sun hit her eyes and reflected a flaming red color, her pupils narrowing.I should have been terrified, but instead I just felt exhausted and really, really annoyed. I took a deep breath, anger wrapping around my muscles.I was done - so done - with this bullshit. I strode towards her."Little?" I said. "If you're going to insult me, at least make me a big, slutty whore. Little makes me sound so incompetent. #Quote by Stacey Marie Brown

#11. That was… wow. You're so fucking good."
Zak's exhale turned into a breathless laugh. He pushed on Stitch's arm and rolled him onto his back. With his face flushed red and a big smile on his face, he looked like the happiest man alive. "You have no idea how hard it was for me not to come right away. You're so fucking hot you make me turn into a teenager," whispered Zak, landing in the covers next to Stitch. He immediately rolled closer and pulled him against his chest. The movement made sperm drip out of Stitch.
Stitch hugged Zak close and smiled back. "Did the teen-Zak wet himself over fucking a big, bad biker?" He kissed Zak's sweaty forehead. Just a few hours ago, Stitch wouldn't even consider bottoming, and now it felt like the best idea on the planet. He felt so light he could fly #Quote by K.A. Merikan

#12. The next day, Angelina was tending a fresh pot of red gravy on the stove. She was going to make Veal Parmigiana for dinner, to be accompanied by pasta, fresh bread, and salad. She left the sauce on low and went to put the finishing touches on the pie she had planned. Earlier, she had made 'a vol-au-vent'- the word means "windblown" in French- a pastry that was as light and feathery as a summer breeze, that Angelina had adapted to serve as a fluffy, delicately crispy pie crust.
The crust had cooled and formed a burnished auburn crown around the rim of the pie plate. She took a bowl of custardy creme anglaise out of the refrigerator and began loading it into a pie-filling gadget that looked like a big plastic syringe. With it, she then injected copious amounts of the glossy creme into the interior of the pie without disturbing the perfect, golden-crusty dome. That done, she heated the chocolate and cream on the stove top to create a chocolate ganache, which she would use as icing on the pie, just to take it completely over the top. #Quote by Brian O'Reilly

#13. Fire engine red paint job, big block V8 rumbling, the 1968 Ford Mustang elicited envious stares from nearly everyone it passed. #Quote by Andrew Clawson

#14. If you take five white guys and put 'em with five black guys, and let 'em hang around together for about a month, and at the end of the month, you'll notice that the white guys are walking and talking and standing like the black guys do. You'll never see the black guys going, "Oh, golly! We won the big game today, yes sir!" But you'll see guys with red hair named Duffy going, "What's happenin'?" #Quote by George Carlin

#15. No one knew much about the Twenty-Eighth Infantry. It was not a glamour outfit.
They knew about the Big Red One and the Screaming Eagles, about the Eighty-Second Airborne and Hell On Wheels, but not about Twenty-Eighth Infantry. The name was met with a certain silence, as if he was in a room full of Harvard graduates and told them his degree was by correspondence. #Quote by Miles Watson

#16. I clutched the armrest when she gunned the engine on the freeway and cut off a minivan. That big red shiny thing inches from you was another vehicle. #Quote by Katie McGarry

#17. My eyes blinked like a camera shutter clicking through the frames of my life, except the images were mismatched and haphazard: a ragged-looking doll with a rose-colored dress; crocheted white baby mittens, slightly unraveled; a row of tulips, vibrant red; Rex's smile; a rusty weather vane whirling in the wind.
My eyelids fluttered, fighting to remain open, but when they closed, the welcoming image that waited beckoned me to stay, promising to give me the comfort, the peace I longed for.
The camellias.
I could see them, seemingly endless rows of big, bushy green trees with waxy leaves and showy flowers the size of saucers. Pinks, reds- bursting into bloom, as if they'd been painted by the Queen of Hearts. #Quote by Sarah Jio

#18. 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. #Quote by Stephen King

#19. Between the fourth and fifth innings, they had the Kiss Cam going around. A heart was displayed on a big screen in the stadium and a camera would zoom in on a couple. The couple would then kiss. There was an older couple with white hair--had to be married. Then they moved on to a couple of kids, who just laughed and waved.
Then there was Jason and me. On the big screen. A big red heart around us. I felt my face turn as red as that heart. I heard Bird squeal and felt her punch my arm, thought I heard Tiffany shriek behind me.
"Kiss him!" Bird ordered.
The camera stayed on us. I knew it would until we kissed. I turned my head to look at Jason, but he was already there, kissing me, while the spectators screamed and applauded, especially the Ragland Rattlers.
I guess it was official--we were on a date. #Quote by Rachel Hawthorne

#20. Why would someone with such red cheeks who liked to go on long walks in the forest have such a big cock? I wondered. What would he do with it? #Quote by Karl Ove Knausgaard

#21. Kline Brooks left his new intern, Leslie, under my watchful eye while he flew out to L.A. for the day to schmooze investors and impress potential advertising clients for TapNext. I was certain she had been sent straight from Hell. The devil might as well have wrapped a big red bow around her neck and attached a note. Dear Georgie, Have fun with this one. Love, Satan I'd #Quote by Max Monroe

#22. Tina and Pete stood together. Pete knew he should be grilling the girl, getting the full story before details were lost, but he was too spellbound by the reunion. The boy he was watching was so different. There was no way to avoid the truth. Someone, a very evil someone, had hurt his boy. Pete felt his fists clench. Whoever it was that had turned Lockie into the skinny kid trapped behind his pain, he would pay. If he had to spend his whole life looking for him, Pete would find him and then he would make him pay. The girl had obviously helped Lockie. He had no idea if she had found him or if she had been with him the whole time, but Lockie kept saying that she had 'saved' him. He was a clever kid and he knew what the word meant.
Pete liked the way she looked at Lockie - like a lioness, like a sister, like a mother.
The skinny girl with short messy black hair could have been anyone. She looked about fifteen but when she spoke she sounded a lot older. She was wearing a big coat but underneath that Pete had caught a glimpse of a short skirt and a tight red top. Not the kind of thing a nice girl would wear. Maybe she wasn't a nice girl but she was smart. That was easy to see. She was watching Lockie with his dad and Pete could see her body sag with relief. She was relieved to get him home. It must have been a promise she had made the boy.
Pete had no idea how she'd got him home. She didn't look like she had a cent to her name. He sighed.
So many questions t #Quote by Nicole Trope

#23. At childhood's end, the houses petered out
into playing fields, the factory, allotments
kept, like mistresses, by kneeling married men,
the silent railway line, the hermit's caravan,
till you came at last to the edge of the woods.
It was there that I first clapped eyes on the wolf.

He stood in a clearing, reading his verse out loud
in his wolfy drawl, a paperback in his hairy paw,
red wine staining his bearded jaw. What big ears
he had! What big eyes he had! What teeth!
In the interval, I made quite sure he spotted me,
sweet sixteen, never been, babe, waif, and bought me a drink,

my first. You might ask why. Here's why. Poetry.
The wolf, I knew, would lead me deep into the woods,
away from home, to a dark tangled thorny place
lit by the eyes of owls. I crawled in his wake,
my stockings ripped to shreds, scraps of red from my blazer
snagged on twig and branch, murder clues. I lost both shoes

but got there, wolf's lair, better beware. Lesson one that night,
breath of the wolf in my ear, was the love poem.
I clung till dawn to his thrashing fur, for
what little girl doesn't dearly love a wolf?
Then I slid from between his heavy matted paws
and went in search of a living bird – white dove –

which flew, straight, from my hands to his hope mouth.
One bite, dead. How nice, breakfast in bed, he said,
licking his chops. As s #Quote by Carol Ann Duffy

#24. I can tell you a graphic difference. In Prague, for example, big red posters were put up on which could be read that seven Czechs had been shot today. I said to myself: If I put up a poster for every seven Poles shot, the forests of Poland would not be sufficient to manufacture the paper for such posters. #Quote by Hans Frank

#25. I enjoy my food. I like to grill; I do that a lot. I like meat and have big dinners - steak, red meat splurges, prime cuts. #Quote by Taylor Kinney

#26. From his beach bag the man took an old penknife with a red handle and began to etch the signs of the letters onto nice flat pebbles. At the same time, he spoke to Mondo about everything there was in the letters, about everything you could see in them when you looked and when you listened. He spoke about A, which is like a big fly with its wings pulled back; about B, which is funny, with its two tummies; or C and D, which are like the moon, a crescent moon or a half-full moon; and then there was O, which was the full moon in the black sky. H is high, a ladder to climb up trees or to reach the roofs of houses; E and F look like a rake and a shovel; and G is like a fat man sitting in an armchair. I dances on tiptoes, with a little head popping up each time it bounces, whereas J likes to swing. K is broken like an old man, R takes big strides like a soldier, and Y stands tall, its arms up in the air, and it shouts: help! L is a tree on the river's edge, M is a mountain, N is for names, and people waving their hands, P is asleep on one paw, and Q is sitting on its tail; S is always a snake, Z is always a bolt of lightning, T is beautiful, like the mast on a ship, U is like a vase, V and W are birds, birds in flight; and X is a cross to help you remember. #Quote by J M G Le Clezio

#27. That goddam stunted, red-faced, big-cheeked, apple-cheeked, curlyheaded, midget assed, , google-eyed, undersized, grinning, buck-toothed rat!!" Yossarian sputtered.
~ Catch-22 #Quote by Joseph Heller

#28. Astrology is superstition. A remnant of the ignorant dark ages, when people knew nothing about how the world works.

They believed the earth is flat and the center of the universe. Astrology might have made sense a long time ago, when people didn't know any better. Back then people believed that the stars were gods, with names like Zeus or Mars, the God of war, who had nothing better to do than to watch us down here on earth, and fuck with us. And gods have superpowers. So it would make sense for gods to be able to influence our lives or our decisions. Back then it sounded like there was an internal logic to it all.

But nowadays we know better. Now we know that the earth is not flat and not the center of the universe. And now we know that the stars are not gods with superpowers, but simply suns and planets, millions of miles away. Big balls of gas and rock, flying through space, minding their own business. Mars is not the God of War. Mars is just a big red rock. There is simply no mechanism by which a big rock, flying through space millions of miles away, is gonna affect whether you're gonna get a raise tomorrow or not.

Think about how self-centered and narcissistic that idea actually is. Astrology is the idea that this endlessly big universe and all the trillions of planets in it, are only here to affect whether you are gonna have a good day tomorrow. Because all these big rocks flying through space millions of miles away have nothing better #Quote by Oliver Markus Malloy

#29. The War on Men Through the Degradation of Woman" - "How is man to recognize his full self, his full power through the eye's of an incomplete woman? The woman who has been stripped of Goddess recognition and diminished to a big ass and full breast for physical comfort only. The woman who has been silenced so she may forget her spiritual essence because her words stir too much thought outside of the pleasure space. The woman who has been diminished to covering all that rots inside of her with weaves and red bottom shoes.

I am sure the men, who restructured our societies from cultures that honored woman, had no idea of the outcome. They had no idea that eventually, even men would render themselves empty and longing for meaning, depth and connection.

There is a deep sadness when I witness a man that can't recognize the emptiness he feels when he objectifies himself as a bank and truly believes he can buy love with things and status. It is painful to witness the betrayal when a woman takes him up on that offer.

He doesn't recognize that the [creation] of a half woman has contributed to his repressed anger and frustration of feeling he is not enough. He then may love no woman or keep many half women as his prize.

He doesn't recognize that it's his submersion in the imbalanced warrior culture, where violence is the means of getting respect and power, as the reason he can break the face of the woman who bore him 4 four children.
< #Quote by Jada Pinkett Smith

#30. And that historical moment when the young Aphrodite held Poseidon`s magnificent phallus in her small hand & squeezed it was the greatest event of the universe since the Big Bang. It was the moment when Eros, separated from Himeros & Chaos in the Big Bang, were reunited, to become one again. And all who were there saw Aphrodite`s girdle changed its colour from a passion red to orange, & then to gold, the colour of Love. #Quote by Nicholas Chong

#31. You go to a party or whatever, and you spend the whole night zeroing in on the woman in red, the blonde in the corner, the girl with the big laugh, and then, as you are leaving, you see someone out of the corner of your eye, her hair glinting in the light, her long neck tilted slightly as she listens intently to the person next to her. And you know she's the one you should of talked to. #Quote by Jennifer Kaufman

#32. To secure the safety of the navigation of the Mississippi River I would slay millions. On that point I am not only insane, but mad ... I think I see one or two quick blows that will astonish the natives of the South and will convince them that, though to stand behind a big cottonwood and shoot at a passing boat is good sport and safe, it may still reach and kill their friends and families hundreds of miles off. For every bullet shot at a steamboat, I would shoot a thousand 30-pounder Parrots into even helpless towns on Red, Ouachita, Yazoo, or wherever a boat can float or soldier march. #Quote by William Tecumseh Sherman

#33. Oh my god lady, you can't eat the goldfish!"
Scowling I turn to the intruder of my happy moment.
A young human man is standing there staring at me indignantly, wearing some sort of pants that look like pantyhose. All his business is right there…just…there. The hooded sweatshirt he is wearing does nothing to hide it.
Why wear the sweatshirt if he's going to wear pantyhose?
"Why not? Fish tastes good."
"Lady, they're for looking at, not eating. See the sign?" Oh, shit. He points at a warning sign that's a few feet from me. In big red letters, "No fishing. Fish are not meant for consumption".
Woops.
Well, since I already broke the law… #Quote by Zoe Parker

#34. Shouts of dismay rose as the red flesh splattered against the table. It was only a tomato, but one would think I was pulping a decaying heart by the noise the big, strong FIB officers were making. #Quote by Kim Harrison

#35. Caleb was like the sun. He was so warm, so big and bright that you couldn't help but come closer. But what would happen when I get too close?. #Quote by Isabelle Ronin

#36. I don't expect any red carpet to the big leagues. If the opportunity comes, then it comes. But I don't think I'm owed anything. #Quote by Ryne Sandberg

#37. There are also silent drinkers with big chapped red fists around silent glasses, huddled over, figuring out ways to get their wives outa their thoughts and you can see their mouths lengthen down and draw sorrow almost as you look. #Quote by Jack Kerouac

#38. I will not date a woman from China, because that is a big red flag. #Quote by Daniel Tosh

#39. Early on, before rock 'n' roll, I listened to big band music - anything that came over the radio - and music played by bands in hotels that our parents could dance to. We had a big radio that looked like a jukebox, with a record player on the top. The radio/record player played 78rpm records. When we moved to that house, there was a record on there, with a red label. It was Bill Monroe, or maybe it was the Stanley Brothers. I'd never heard anything like that before. Ever. And it moved me away from all the conventional music that I was hearing. #Quote by Bob Dylan

#40. You see it is important to understand how damaged people don't always know how to say yes, or to choose the big thing, even when it is right in front of them. It's a shame we carry. The shame of wanting something good. The shame of not believing we deserve to stand in the same room in the same way as all those we admire. Big red A's on our chests. #Quote by Lidia Yuknavitch

#41. Slowly the big gates opened. Red-gold fire glow from inside silhouetted a number of figures who moved out toward the bridge, where the strengthening light picked out the drawn swords, the spears, the dark cloaks, and the helmed heads of the Renselaeus warriors. They were wearing their own colors, and battle gear. No liveries, no pretense of being mere servants. In the center of their formation were Khesot and the four others--unarmed.
There were no shouts, no trumpets, nothing but the ringing of iron-shod boots on the stones of the bridge, and the clank of ready weaponry.
Could we rescue them? I could not see Khesot's face, but in the utter stillness with which they stood, I read hopelessness.
I readied myself once again--
Then from the center of their forces stepped a single equerry, with a white scarf tied to a pole. He started up the path that we meant to descend. As he walked the light strengthened, now illuminating details. Still with that weird detachment I looked at his curly hair, the freckles on his face, his small nose. We could cut him down in moments, I thought, and then winced the thought away. We were not Galdran. I waited.
He stopped not twenty-five paces from me and said loudly, "Countess, we request a parley."
Which made it obvious they knew we were there.
Questions skittered through my mind. Had Khesot talked? How otherwise could the enemy have seen us? The only noise now was the rain, pattering softly with the magnificent #Quote by Sherwood Smith

#42. I wondered if the owners would mind if I murdered someone in their front yard. A big red-headed someone. He was so full of shit, he'd make fantastic fertilizer for their garden #Quote by Karina Halle

#43. [About Uluru] I'm suggesting nothing here, but I will say that if you were an intergalactic traveler who had broken down in our solar system, the obvious directions to rescuers would be: "Go to the third planet and fly around till you see the big red rock. You can't miss it." If ever on earth they dig up a 150,000-year-old rocket ship from the galaxy Zog, this is where it will be. I'm not saying I expect it to happen; not saying that at all. I'm just observing that if I were looking for an ancient starship this is where I would start digging. #Quote by Bill Bryson

#44. A strange thing happened to me as I walked away from Jane's house
I was finally thinking clearly. I could see what Charlotte meant. Jane knew how to fix people. Now that I'd talked through some of my issues, I'd blown out the dust and garbage out of my brain and I could think for once. I could smell the rain, heavy with iron. The cold woke me, but it didn't sting. My breath puffed out in front of me in a great white plume, and I laughed. It was like I was breathing ghosts. I wasn't in the land of long highways and big box stores and humid, endless summers. I was in London, a city of stone and rain and magic. I understood, for instance, why they liked red so much. The red buses, telephone booths, and postboxes were a violent shock against the grays of the sky and stone. Red was blood and beating hearts.
And I was strong. #Quote by Maureen Johnson

#45. Another one of my favorite posters at Facebook declares in big red letters, "Done is better than perfect." I have tried to embrace this motto and let go of unattainable standards. Aiming for perfection causes frustration at best and paralysis at worst. #Quote by Sheryl Sandberg

#46. Fear isn't so difficult to understand. After all, weren't we all frightened as children? Nothing has changed since Little Red Riding Hood faced the big bad wolf. What frightens us today is exactly the same sort of thing that frightened us yesterday. It's just a different wolf. This fright complex is rooted in every individual. #Quote by Alfred Hitchcock

#47. A black dog, tall and wide as a full grown man, took a couple of steps toward them. It bared sharp, yellow fangs big as Bowie knifes. Drool dripped from them to the dried grass below. Unable to help it, Lee wet his pants when he saw the animal's eyes. It had four glowing orbs that burned with a smoldering red light like the fires of Hell. #Quote by Pamela K. Kinney

#48. I wanted to write an adventure story, not, it's true, I really did. I shall have failed, that's all. Adventures bore me. I have no idea how to talk about countries, how to make people wish they had been there. I am not a good travelling salesman. Countries? Where are they , whatever became of them.
When I was twelve I dreamed of Hongkong. That tedious, commonplace little provincial town! Shops sprouting from every nook and cranny! The Chinese junks pictured on the lids of chocolate boxes used to fascinate me. Junks: sort of chopped-off barges, where the housewives do all their cooking and washing on deck. They even have television. As for the Niagara Falls: water, nothing but water! A dam is more interesting; at least one can occasionally see a big crack at its base, and hope for some excitement.
When one travels, one sees nothing but hotels. Squalid rooms, with iron bedsteads, and a picture of some kind hanging on the wall from a rusty nail, a coloured print of London Bridge or the Eiffel Tower.
One also sees trains, lots of trains, and airports that look like restaurants, and restaurants that look like morgues. All the ports in the world are hemmed in by oil slicks and shabby customs buildings. In the streets of the towns, people keep to the sidewalks, cars stop at red lights. If only one occasionally arrived in a country where women are the colour of steel and men wear owls on their heads. But no, they are sensible, they all have black ties, partings to one #Quote by J M G Le Clezio

#49. She is surrounded by stalks of dahlias, orange and yellow and pale red, with leaves so big you could write your life story on each one. She looks like a flower in the garden, just like her mother said. #Quote by Alice Hoffman

#50. Most kids don't believe in fairy tales very long. Once they hit six or seven they put away "Cinderella" and
her shoe fetish, "The Three Little Pigs" with their violation of building codes, "Miss Muffet" and her
well-shaped tuffet - all forgotten or discounted. And maybe that's the way it has to be. To survive in the
world, you have to give up the fantasies, the make-believe. The only trouble is that it's not all
make-believe. Some parts of the fairy tales are all too real, all too true. There might not be a Red Riding
Hood, but there is a Big Bad Wolf. No Snow White, but definitely an Evil Queen. No obnoxiously cute
blond tots, but a child-eating witch ... yeah. Oh yeah. #Quote by Rob Thurman

#51. The hardest thing about being wanted was the hardest thing about wanting - wanting badly enough that it gave you stomachache, wanting in a way that was partly about kissing and partly about swallowing whole, the way a snake gulps down a mouse or the Big Bad Wolf gulps down Red Riding Hood - wanting turned someone you felt like you knew into a stranger. Whether that person was your brother's best friend or a sleeping prince in a glass prison or a girl who kissed you at a party, the moment you wanted more than just touching your mouth to theirs they became terrifying and you became terrified. #Quote by Holly Black

#52. Alexander laughs. They kiss exuberantly. "Now - much more seriously," she says, "what would you like to play, Captain? Marco Polo?" "How about Little Red Riding Tania?" he says, all teeth. "Okey-dokey." Making her voice high high high, she says gamely, batting her eyes, "Oh, Captain, what big arms you have ... " "All the better to hold you with, my dear." He squeezes her wet body to him. "Oh, Captain, what big hands you have ... " "All the better to grab you with, my dear." He grabs her behind and presses into her. "Oh, my, Captain! What a - " Anthony takes a running jump, right into the pool, right into his mother and father. Alexander pushes his son underwater and when he releases him, Tatiana pushes her son underwater, and when she releases him they both embrace him and kiss his face. "Ant, want to play Marco Polo?" "Yes, Dad," says Anthony. "You're it. And no chasing only Mommy this time. #Quote by Paullina Simons

#53. She smelled of talcum powder and Big Red. #Quote by David Foster Wallace

#54. I watched a swatch of the sky turn red. The red spread like blood in the sea: red, red, red, and then less and less red, until there was only blue left. I squinted as the sun rose. I must have fallen asleep, because when I woke up, my father was carrying me into the house. Sam walked beside us carrying the lawn chair, which seemed almost as big as he was. Inside the living room my father laid me on my cot. "She's gone," he said. #Quote by Cynthia Kadohata

#55. In the morning we shed our blue sheep's clothing. Our border shirts came out of satchels and onto our backs. We preferred this means of dress for it was more flatout and honest. The shirts were large with pistol pockets, and usually colored red or dun. Many had been embroidered with ornate stitching by loving women some were blessed enough to have. Mine was plain, but well broken in. I can think of no more chilling a sight than that of myself all astride my big bay horse with six or eight pistols dangling from my saddle, my rebel locks aloft on the breeze and a whoopish yell on my lips. When my awful costume was multiplied by that of my comrades, we stopped feint hearts just by our mode of dread stylishness. #Quote by Daniel Woodrell

#56. Ian once suggested that in addition to the mystery stickers and the sci-fi and animal ones, there should be special stickers for books with happy endings, books with sad endings, books that will trick you into reading the next in the series. 'There should be ones with big teardrops,' he said, 'like for the side of Where the Red Fern Grows. Because otherwise it isn't fair. Like maybe you're accidentally reading it in public, and then everyone will make fun of you for crying.' But what could I affix to the marvelous and perplexing tale of Ian Drake? A little blue sticker with a question mark, maybe. Crossed fingers. A penny in a fountain. #Quote by Rebecca Makkai

#57. The day Glenn Gregg's daddy got back from New Orleans was the same day Lady Sally Anne Montberclair decided to park her big white Cadillac out in front of Red's Goodlookin Bar and Gro. and leave the motor running and scoot inside, out of the first drops of rain, on an errand. Glenn's daddy was named Solon. #Quote by Lewis Nordan

#58. He grinned at her. "Well, then I have a bit of a confession to make. Colin said some things to me and the sound of his voice irritated me so I had one of those clowns with the big red noses in the paediatric wing turn him into a balloon animal. A giraffe I'm afraid. Sad fate it was," Alessandro joked with no sign of remorse at all. #Quote by E. Jamie

#59. He wasn't a pretty boy, his nose was crooked and his grin lopsided, but he had that square-jawed, salt-of-the-earth handsome look that made a girl think of loose-hipped cowboys and demanding Scottish Lairds. And speaking of Scottish Lairds, old mate was a redhead. Usually gingers weren't her scene but this guy's hair was the rich coppery-auburn of a fox's pelt. It gleamed like rose gold under the floodlights, his short beard the exact colour as the stuff on his head. Big Red was doing it for her. Big time. And apparently, the feeling was mutual. #Quote by Eve Dangerfield

#60. The birds are catching fire again. I keep shouting up to them, Fly lower, fly lower! They never listen. They're dropping all around us now, and we run for the nearest building, this big squat red thing, a county office of some kind, maybe something to do with zoning? But the door is locked and no one comes no matter how loud we knock so we cover our heads and run across the street to this cheesy trattoria-type thing and huddle there under the awning, or what should be an awning, red-and-white striped, but isn't - there's nothing left but shreds after the big birdstorm last week.
- "[Exeunt. #Quote by Roy Kesey

#61. It seems we've left skin
in each other's lungs. I should have

looked under your bed skirt
for my wallet, but how

could credit cards compare
to the sneeze after we've parted?

Gone and still you make me
reach for a tissue - still my palms

turn circles in the red
breakwater of your heartbeat.

I want to tell you, I have nothing
but respect for your ribcage

now that we both know
it's not big enough to hold us. #Quote by Michael Meyerhofer

#62. Soon, things were heating up in the kitchen. The first course was a variation on a French recipe that had been around since Escoffier, Baccala Brandade. Angelina created a silky forcemeat with milk, codfish, olive oil, pepper, and slow-roasted garlic, a drizzle of lemon juice, and a shower of fresh parsley, then served it as a dip with sliced sourdough and warmed pita-bread wedges, paired with glasses of bubbly Prosecco.
The second course had been a favorite of her mother's called Angels on Horseback- freshly shucked oysters, wrapped in thin slices of prosciutto, then broiled on slices of herb-buttered bread. When the oysters cooked, they curled up to resemble tiny angels' wings. Angelina accented the freshness of the oyster with a dab of anchovy paste and wasabi on each hors d'oeuvre. She'd loved the Angels since she was a little girl; they were a heavenly mouthful.
This was followed by a Caesar salad topped with hot, batter-dipped, deep-fried smelts. Angelina's father used to crunch his way through the small, silvery fish like French fries. Tonight, Angelina arranged them artfully around mounds of Caesar salad on each plate and ushered them out the door.
For the fifth course, Angelina had prepared a big pot of her Mediterranean Clam Soup the night before, a lighter version of Manhattan clam chowder. The last two courses were Parmesan-Stuffed Poached Calamari over Linguine in Red Sauce, and the piece de resistance, Broiled Flounder with a Coriander Reduction. #Quote by Brian O'Reilly

#63. Dear Jutta, Sorry I have not written these past months. The fever is mostly gone now and you should not worry. I have been feeling very clearheaded lately and what I want to write about today is the sea. It contains so many colors. Silver at dawn, green at noon, dark blue in the evening. Sometimes it looks almost red. Or it will turn the color of old coins. Right now the shadows of clouds are dragging across it, and patches of sunlight are touching down everywhere. White strings of gulls drag over it like beads. It is my favorite thing, I think, that I have ever seen. Sometimes I catch myself staring at it and forget my duties. It seems big enough to contain everything anyone could ever feel. Say hello to Frau Elena and the children who are left. #Quote by Anthony Doerr

#64. Adolf Hitler and his Brownshirts had surged to power. Now they held Germany by the throat. The Gestapo was rapidly creating a cruel and brutal police state that treated all but true Aryans like dogs and swine. That was certainly true for Jews like the Weisz family. In just the last few years, they and all of the Jewish families in Germany had been stripped of their citizenship and denied many of their most basic rights. Jacob's father, an esteemed professor of German history, had been summarily fired from his prestigious post at Frederick William University in Berlin. The Weisz family had been forced out of their beautiful, spacious home in the suburbs of the capital. They'd had a big red J stamped on their official papers and had been denied permission to leave the country. So they had left Berlin and made a new home in Siegen. #Quote by Joel C. Rosenberg

#65. Ooh, big day in town for our park warden," I said. "They're even making you wear the uniform.
Hayley's mom will be happy. She thinks you look hot in it."
Dad turned as red as his hair.
Mom's laugh floated out from her studio. "Maya Delaney. Leave your father alone. #Quote by Kelley Armstrong

#66. My mother says that pain is hidden in everyone you see. She says try to imagine it like big bunches of flowers that everyone is carrying around with them. Think of your pain like a big bunch of red roses, a beautiful thorn necklace. Everyone has one. #Quote by Francesca Lia Block

#67. Hollywood always represents this big dream and fairy tale in people's minds, but to me, it's just hard work. Of course, we play fairy tale on the red carpet. It's all Cinderella. But when the clock strikes midnight, I turn into a gray mouse and I go home, and I take my dress off and it's over. That's Hollywood. #Quote by Olga Kurylenko

#68. I know nothing about her. Just some books, and some stories she tried to tell me, and things I didn't understand, and I remember big red soft hands and that smell. I never knew who she really was. I mean, she must have been nine too, once. #Quote by Terry Pratchett

#69. The devil, he's about this big. He had a red suit on and a widow's peak, and then a pointed tail, and like a sulfur reek. Yes, it was him alright, I swear. #Quote by Frank Zappa

#70. He's Gandalf on crack and an IV of Red Bull, with a big leather coat and a .44 revolver in his pocket. #Quote by Jim Butcher

#71. Little of that makes for love, but it does pump desire. The woman who churned a man's blood as she leaned all alone on a fence by a country road might not expect even to catch his eye in the City. But if she is clipping quickly down the big-city street in heels, swinging her purse, or sitting on a stoop with a cool beer in her hand, dangling her shoe from the toes of her foot, the man, reacting to her posture, to soft skin on stone, the weight of the building stressing the delicate, dangling shoe, is captured. And he'd think it was the woman he wanted, and not some combination of curved stone, and a swinging, high-heeled shoe moving in and out of sunlight. He would know right away the deception, the trick of shapes and light and movement, but it wouldn't matter at all because the deception was part of it too. Anyway, he could feel his lungs going in and out. There is no air in the City but there is breath, and every morning it races through him like laughing gas brightening his eyes, his talk, and his expectations. In no time at all he forgets little pebbly creeks and apple trees so old they lay their branches along the ground and you have to reach down or stoop to pick the fruit. He forgets a sun that used to slide up like the yolk of a good country egg, thick and red-orange at the bottom of the sky, and he doesn't miss it, doesn't look up to see what happened to it or to stars made irrelevant by the light of thrilling, wasteful street lamps.

That kind of fascinat #Quote by Toni Morrison

#72. If the devil decided to run for President, do you think he/she would put on their horns and wicked grin, or a suit with an angelic smile? If the wicked witch stayed green and ugly, would she have been able to give Snow White a poisoned apple? And if the Big Bad Wolf had not disguised himself as an old granny, would he have been able to lure Little Red Riding Hood into the house to eat her? And if a drug dealer wanted to seduce some school kids to get on his drugs, would he act like a greedy businessman - or a caring friend? Salt and sugar look exactly the same but taste very different. We live in a world of illusions, one filled with Luciferians acting like righteous men, and righteous men condemned as criminals. #Quote by Suzy Kassem

#73. The torpedo launch console has big square plastic buttons - Flood Tube, Open Shuttle, Ready to Fire - that flash red or green, like something Q would have built into James Bond's Aston Martin. The missile compartment has similarly retro-looking panels of buttons. They provided the setup for one of the more quotable things Murray said to me - a line that, were fewer precautions in place, could have joined "Houston, we've had a problem" or "Watch this" in the pantheon of understated taglines for calamity: "I wouldn't lean on that. #Quote by Mary Roach

#74. She read novels and underlined passages that felt special to her in big streaks of red pen. These novels were about civilised women who holidayed in Europe, women whose lives weren't rotten or shameful. Someday, she thought, someday. She would burn her face off to become one of these women. #Quote by Nicole Flattery

#75. I've done lots of jobs. Right now, I'm a hair collector."

"That's good", said Ishvar tentatively. "What do you have to do as a hair-collector?"

"Collect hair."

"And there is money in that?"

"Oh very big business. There is a great demand for hair in foreign countries."

"What do they do with it? Asked Om skeptical."

"Many different things. Mostly they wear it.Sometimes they paint it in different colors-red, yellow, brown, blue. Foreign women enjoy wearing other people's hair. Men also, especially if they are bald.
In foreign countries they fear baldness. They are so rich in foreign countries, they can afford to fear all kinds of silly things. #Quote by Rohinton Mistry

#76. Nim unwrapped a loaf of fresh dilled rye bread and opened a crock of trout mousse. He slathered up a big slice and handed it to me. [ ... ] We had thinly sliced veal smothered in kumquat sauce, fresh spinach with pine nuts, and fat red beefsteak tomatoes (impossibly rare at this time of year) broiled and stuffed with lemon apple sauce. The wide, fan-shaped mushrooms were sauteed lightly and served as a side dish. The main course was followed by a salad of red and green baby lettuce with dandelion greens and toasted hazelnuts. #Quote by Katherine Neville

#77. You're bleeding," Fitz interrupted, lifting Sophie's hand and examining her palm. Thin streams of red dripped down her skin. "These look bad, Sophie. You should get them treated."

"I'm fine," she said, trying not to think about the blood, or the fact that Fitz was technically holding her hand, since both things made her head spin way too fast. "Really. It's not a big deal. We don't need to call Elwin. #Quote by Shannon Messenger

#78. Still, I wonder if we shall ever be put into songs or tales. We're in one, of course; but I mean: put into words, you know, told by the fireside, or read out loud of a great big book with red and black letters, years and years afterwards. And people will say: 'Let's hear about Frodo and the Ring' and they'll say 'Oh yes, that's one of my favorite stories. #Quote by J.R.R. Tolkien

#79. Hold it. You know what I'd like to see? I'd like to see the three bears eat the three little pigs, and then the bears join up with the big bad wolf and eat Goldilocks and Little Red Riding Hood! Tell me a story like that, OK? #Quote by Bill Watterson

#80. I stroked a big red A on top of his paper. Looked at it for a moment or two, then added a big red +. Because it was good, and because his pain had evoked an emotional reaction in me, his reader. And isn't that what A+ writing is supposed to do? Evoke a response? #Quote by Stephen King

#81. I used to teach at an abused children's home. I told the kids, You all have a manure pile of memories. Nothing you can do about that. Now you can drown in the stink or turn it into compost and grow a garden. I wouldn't't be as good a teacher to you if I didn't know what you're going through. That way, I make my memories do good instead of letting them eat me. I'm like Herbie from Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer. I pulled my Bumble's teeth. He's still big and scary but he can't bite me anymore. #Quote by Rebecca O'Donnell

#82. Two men, I think. A driver and a passenger." Reacher didn't want to turn around to look. Didn't want to show either guy the pale flash of a concerned face in the rear window. So he hunched down a little and moved sideways until he could see the image in Chang's door mirror. A pick-up truck, about a hundred yards back. A Ford, he thought. A serious machine, big and obvious, keeping pace. It was dull red, like the general store. There were two guys in it, side by side, but far from each other, because of the vehicle's extravagant width. #Quote by Lee Child

#83. When you talk to a Republican, many of them just outright say, 'Yeah. Climate change isn't real,' without assessing the facts, and it's a big problem. It's not a red or blue issue, it's a green issue ... Not because of facts or science but because of emotion. #Quote by Philippe Cousteau, Jr.

#84. Alwasy remember ... We are engaged in a battle for the continuation of
our capitalist, free-market economic model; our way of life; and our
liberty. The enemy is anticapitalist, believes in big government, embraces
collectivist ideologies, and has, over the past century, infiltrated every
level of our government and most of the banking industry. They don't care about patriotism, although they may sport the red, white, and
blue and the stars and stripes on their bumper stickers. They don't
care about personal responsibility or civic duty. They don't share your
sense of honor. All they care about is power and control over your
money and every aspect of your life. #Quote by Ziad K. Abdelnour

#85. The wedding ended, hurriedly, on a surge of masculine bonhomie and relief. Five minutes later, followed by the red-eyed glares of their womenfolk, Buccleuch and his friends and his new-married son had plunged off to join Lord Culter, head of the Crawfords, and Francis Crawford his brother, to fight the English once more. * Sentimentally, Will Scott thought, it made his wedding-day perfect. Cantering, easy and big-limbed, through the bracken of Ettrick-side, with leaves stuck, lime-green and scarlet on his wet sleeves, blue eyes narrowed and fair, red-blooded Scott face misted with rain, he was borne on a vast, angry joy. #Quote by Dorothy Dunnett

#86. Some people will tell you that Toronto, in the summer, is the nothing more than a cesspool of pollution, garbage, and the smells of a hundred ethnicities competing for top spot in a race won historically by curry, garlic, and the occasional cauldron of boiled cabbage. Take a walk down College Street West, Gerrard Street East, or the Danforth, and you'll see; then, they add - these people, complaining - that the stench is so pervasive, so incorrigible, nor merely for lack of wind, but for the ninety-nine percent humidity, which, after a rainstorm, adds an eradicable bottom-note of sweaty Birkenstocks and the organic tang of decaying plant life. This much is true; there is, however, more to the story. Take a walk down the same streets and you'll find racks of the most stunning saris - red with navy brocade, silver, canary, vermillion and chocolate; marts with lahsun and adrak, pyaz and pudina; windows of gelato, zeppole, tiramisu; dusty smoke shops with patio-bistros; you'll find dove-white statuary of Olympian goddesses, mobs in blue jerseys, primed for the World Cup - and more, still, the compulsory banter of couples who even after forty years can turn foul words into the bawdiest, more unforgettable laughter (and those are just the details). Beyond them is the container, the big canvas brushed with parks and valleys and the interminable shore; a backdrop of ferries and islands, gulls and clouds - sparkles of a million wave-tips as the sun decides which colours to leave on it #Quote by Cory Ingram

#87. With the RED, I didn't have this impression at all. I felt that it was as heavy as a film camera. Having this great crew, with the DP and his assistants, I found it making as much of an impression as a very big film camera. I didn't relate to it as much. I remember avoiding it during the shooting rather than paying attention to it. #Quote by Abbas Kiarostami

#88. For me and the girls from my village, horror is a disease and we are sick with it. It is not an illness you can cure yourself of by standing up and letting the big red cinema seat fold itself up behind you. #Quote by Chris Cleave

#89. Fans love McGwire for his powerful physique, for his on-field hugs of his son, the part-time bat boy. He is Big Mac, or Paul Bunyan in Cardinals red with a white-ash bat instead of an ax. #Quote by Bill Dedman

#90. About sexuality of English mice.

A warm perfume is growing little by little in the room. An orchard scent, a caramelized sugar scent. Mrs. MOUSE roasts apples in the chimney. The apple fruits smell grass of England and the pastry oven. On a thread drawn in the flames, the apples, from the buried autumn, turn a golden color and grind in tempting bubbles.
But I have the feeling that you already worry. Mrs. MOUSE in a Laura Ashley apron, pink and white stripes, with a big purple satin bow on her belt, Mrs. MOUSE is certainly not a free mouse? Certainly she cooks all day long lemon meringue tarts, puddings and cheese pies, in the kitchen of the burrow. She suffocates a bit in the sweet steams, looks with a sigh the patched socks trickling, hanging from the ceiling, between mint leaves and pomegranates. Surely Mrs. MOUSE just knows the inside, and all the evening flavours are just good for Mrs. MOUSE flabbiness.
You are totally wrong - we can forgive you – we don't know enough that the life in the burrow is totally communal. To pick the blackberries, the purplish red elderberries, the beechnuts and the sloes Mr. and Mrs. MOUSE escape in turn, and glean in the bushes the winter gatherings. After, with frozen paws, intoxicated with cold wind, they come back in the burrow, and it's a good time when the little door, rond little oak wood door brings a yellow ray in the blue of the evening. Mr. and Mrs. MOUSE are from outside and from inside, in the most complete co #Quote by Philippe Delerm

#91. Sensing that this stranger was not the dangerous kind, and being the caring, big-hearted dog that he had built his reputation on, Lucky decided that a good dose of tongue licking would put matters right. However, in a twist of bad timing, unluckily for Lucky, he landed his lick just as Felicity rolled over onto her back. So, instead of a friendly lick across the ears as he intended, Lucky's long slobbery, pink tongue made a trail from Felicity's chin to her cherry red lips and up to her forehead.
'AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRGHHHH! #Quote by Kaal Kaczmarek

#92. Ten little Indian boys went out to dine; One choked his little self and then there were nine.
Nine little Indian boys sat up very late; One overslept himself and then there were eight.
Eight little Indian boys travelling in Devon; One said he'd stay there and then there were seven.
Seven little Indian boys chopping up sticks; One chopped himself in halves and then there were six.
Six little Indian boys playing with a hive; A bumblebee stung one and then there were five.
Five little Indian boys going in for law; One got in Chancery and then there were four.
Four little Indian boys going out to sea; A red herring swallowed one and then there were three.
Three little Indian boys walking in the Zoo; A big bear hugged one and then there were two.
Two little Indian boys sitting in the sun; One got frizzled up and then there was one.
One little Indian boy left all alone; He went and hanged himself and then there were none. #Quote by Agatha Christie

#93. Whose voice was first sounded on this land? The voice of the red people who had but bows and arrows. [...] What has been done in my country I did not want, did not ask for it; white people going through my country. [...] When the white man comes in my country he leaves a trail of blood behind him. [...] I have two mountains in that country--the Black Hills and the Big Horn Mountain. I want the Great Father to make no roads through them. #Quote by Red Cloud

#94. [She wished] that once, just once, the fairy tale fantasy would come true. Not the prince in shining armor . . . But the other one . . . in which innocent little Red Riding Hood meets the Big Bad Wolf. #Quote by Sierra Dafoe

#95. I think the worst one [indian mascot] is the Cleveland Indians' Big Chief Wahoo. It's just a red face on a baseball with a big, toothy grin. It's the Sambo of all other offensive mascots. I have never seen a Native American smile that hard before, not even at a casino opening. #Quote by Wanda Sykes

#96. Death's face became a little stiffer, if that were possible. The blue glow in his eye sockets flickered red for an instant. I SEE, he said. The tone suggested that death was too good for cat-haters. YOU LIKE GREAT BIG DOGS, I IMAGINE. #Quote by Terry Pratchett

#97. The Big Red Machine was exactly that - a freaking machine. #Quote by Tucker Elliot

#98. I do a lot of work with the Red Cross, too. As a reporter, before I went to entertainment news, I tended to follow natural disasters. I went to Charleston, South Carolina, after Hurricane Hugo. I went to Miami the year after they were recovering from Hurricane Andrew. I came to California when they were recovering from a big earthquake. I've seen the Red Cross and how they stay there years after a natural disaster. They're not just there when a disaster is happening. #Quote by Nancy O'Dell

#99. You have heard the good Talks which our Brother (George Morgan) Weepemachukthe [The White Deer] has delivered to us from the Great Council at Philadelphia representing all our white Brethern who have grown out of this same Ground with ourselves for this Big [Turtle] Island being our common Mother, we and they are like one Flesh and Blood."
-Chief Cornstalk to Mingo representatives at a conference at Fort Pitt [Pittsburgh], Friday, June 21st, 1776

[response]
"We are sprung from one common Mother, we were all born in this big Island; we earnestly wish to repose under the same Tree of Peace with you; we request to live in Friendship with all the Indians in the Woods...We call God to Witness, that we desire nothing more ardently than that the white and red Inhabitants of this big Island should cultivate the most Brotherly affection, and be united in the firmest bands of Love and friendship."
-Morgan Letterbrook, "American Commissioners for Indian Affairs to Delawares, Senecas, Munsees, and Mingos" Pittsburgh, 1776 #Quote by Chief Cornstalk

#100. Everybody sees the ants?"
He looks at me and says, "Well, how many people do you think live perfect lives, son? Aren't we all victims of something at some time or another?"
"I don't follow."
"Left hand red!" he says. Two ants fall on this turn, and the ant laughter gets louder. "Well, think about it. How many bad things can be done to a person? You got murder and assault, rape and robbery for starters. Just with those you're looking at some big numbers of how many people see the ants." He calls, "Left foot blue!"
I say, "Huh," because I'm not sure how many people he means.
"There's battery, conspiracy, extortion, slander, defamation and harassment, child abuse, stalking-the list is long, isn't it? Don't forget that every crime has hundreds of victims-everyone who knew and loved the victim and the criminal. That shit can trickle down."
"All those people see the ants?"
"Yep. Right hand green!"
"Wow."
"Yeah," he says. "If there are people who don't see 'em, I'd say we outnumber them a million to one. #Quote by A.S. King