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Read through the most famous quotes by topic #ran
A brick could be used like love. But not my love, because my love is more like a blanket. ↗
#brick-and-blanket-iq-test #brick-and-blanket-responses #brick-and-blanket-test #brick-and-blanket-uses #funny
A blanket could be used to reduce the weight of love, by exactly one person. It’s a cold world out there. ↗
#brick-and-blanket-iq-test #brick-and-blanket-responses #brick-and-blanket-test #brick-and-blanket-uses #funny
I make love like a brick could be used as toilet paper. Sure, it’s rough, but I thought you liked that shit. ↗
#brick-and-blanket-iq-test #brick-and-blanket-responses #brick-and-blanket-test #brick-and-blanket-uses #funny
I make love like I sell sausages to strange women. One at a time, and always covered with a condom (to keep the flies away). ↗
#brick-and-blanket-iq-test #brick-and-blanket-responses #brick-and-blanket-test #brick-and-blanket-uses #funny
All the light was now coming from the East; and it looked breathtakingly new. In a very short time, everything was nationalized, from banks to factories, from pharmacies to little distilleries. ↗
Patti told me that to truly love someone ,you must hold them in a open hand.That was how I needed to love Kai. It was necessary to uncurl my fingers and let him go ↗
Maybe being with Cade was a need…my body needed him more than I realized. He was a part of me, whether I wanted him to be or not. We fit together, in every sense, perfectly. Yes, he had a drinking problem, and I possessed low self-esteem…but together…together we were amazing. We could do anything, go anywhere. Our lives were destined to cross, not just once, but twice. It wasn’t just coincidence, or Cade’s dad, that allowed us to meet again after so many years. It was much more. The universe had made us for each other, and it was time I stop fighting it. ↗
The cane leaves a mark on your flesh for a few hours, a day or two. The good answers to the questions leave a mark on your brain for many years, sometimes even for life,” my father said. ↗
The night I was born, my great uncle Moanea, the village forester, shot a wolf. The villagers roasted it in the fire and fed the meat to the dogs. ↗
With a slow, deliberate movement, he pushed his hand into the fall of her hair, wrapping a thick strand around his fingers and wrist. His voice dropped, deepening as he spoke words meant for her. “I love your hair. The color of blood at its most fragrant and powerful.” The light tug on the strands didn’t hurt. Instead it sensitized her. The swirl of color in his eyes was myriad shades of red reflected and magnified. “You should let go now,” she said, low even tones that matched his own. The corner of that edible mouth lifted, baring a fang. “Never. ↗
